


A Billion Years Away

by JedWasHere



Category: Star Trek Online, Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Alternate Universe, Time Travel
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-20
Updated: 2019-04-06
Packaged: 2019-10-13 08:13:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 11
Words: 29,529
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17484452
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JedWasHere/pseuds/JedWasHere
Summary: The story of Captain Gabriel Lorca’s surprising and downright convoluted second chance in the 26th Century.





	1. Prologue: Slowly Drifting To You

**A Billion Years Away**

**By JedWasHere**

**Prologue**

******Slowly Drifting To You**

*******

_I’m slowly drifting to you_

_The stars and the planets are calling me_

_A billion years away from you_

_I’m on my way, I’m on…_

_I’m on…_

*******

**Somewhere.**

_Painburningbetrayalwhywecouldhave…_

_We…_

_Could…_

_Have…_

“Michael!” he called out, before clutching at his chest in agony, and slumping back onto… onto…

… a soft bed?

_What?_

The man glanced down at his conspicuously bare chest, but apart from from a small, thin scar where he had been stabbed, there was no sign of any injury.

What had happened? The last thing he remembered was…

_We would have helped you if you had asked._

He felt a scowl appear on his face, but he dismissed the feeling. Of course she wouldn’t have helped him. Of _course_ she wouldn’t have given up her vaunted ideals. Of _course_ none of it would have gone right.

And, of course, Georgiou would have taken the opportunity, _any_ opportunity, to ruin his plans, destroy the trust he’d built between himself and this other Michael, and then finally to run him through.

_In the back,_ he thought, scowling, _of_ course _in the back._

Stupid. Stupid. _Stupid._ A whole year of planning, wasted. A whole year of fighting, torture, uncertainty mixed with… with…

_No,_ he admonished himself, forcing himself to remain calm. _It’s in the past. All in the past._ Michael’s face flashed in front of him, but he pushed it away. _We’re alive. We move forward. That’s the only way to go from here._

It was far easier to think that than to focus on just how much he had lost in his last gamble. Shaking his head slightly, he looked around the room, trying to ascertain just where he was and what was happening.

It looked… _nice_.

The walls were wood-panel, real wood too if his eyes weren’t lying to him. There were windows, though the view outside was blocked by opaque, faintly blue curtains, diffusing pale sunlight from outside. There were wicker chairs dotted about, and a library. It was warm, but not unpleasantly so.

He sat up, wincing. His chest still hurt, but he was fine otherwise. He seemed to have been dressed in a simple pair of thin pyjama trousers made from loose-fitting cotton, which gave no indication as to what sort of people he’d ended up with (except that they were probably humanoid, or at least used to working with humanoids). He stood up and looked around, trying to see if anything of his own attire had survived, but there was no sign.

_That could be a good thing, if they didn’t see the insignia,_ he thought. _If I ended up in Federation space, maybe I could get away with playing the same trick twice._

That was, of course, assuming he’d ended up in that universe. Or, for that matter, _any_ universe he’d recognise. His bedclothes certainly didn’t seem like Starfleet standard. It was entirely possible, given multiverse theory and all the associated headaches, that he’d ended up somewhere completely different.

_Would be just my luck,_ he thought, scowling.

Before he could consider any of this further, however, there was a soft knock at the door.

“Hello?” a female-sounding voice asked softly. “Are you awake?”

“Come in,” Lorca said, straightening subconsciously.

A woman entered: she was human, or more accurately _looked_ human. She had pale, almost alabaster skin, strawberry blonde hair that she wore in a ponytail, and striking blue eyes. She wore a simple white robe that draped down to her ankles, and soft white slippers.

“Hello,” she said quietly, inclining her head at him. “My name is Laurien: I’m one of the nurses here. I have been taking care of you.”

“Nice to meet you. I’m Gabriel Lorca,” he said, giving her his best winning smile. Best to avoid any specifics until he had a few of his own. “And, uh, I have no idea where I am.”

“This planet is called Erlös,” she said, the pronunciation somewhat strained. “We are on the outermost edge of known space here, as we prefer.” She paused, choosing not to elaborate on whoever ‘we’ referred to. “I know you have no reason to believe me…”

She was right there, he had no reason whatsoever. But he decided to do something he would never have done before his stint in the Federation’s Starfleet: give her the benefit of the doubt. He resisted the urge to snort derisively. _Goin’ soft in your old age, Gabriel._

“I’m here and alive,” he said, trying to sound grateful as opposed to sardonic. “And, truth be told, I figure if I’m here and alive I’m probably not going to cease being the latter at your hands any time soon. You had plenty of opportunities to do me an injustice.”

That, of course, was discounting the potential for this to be an elaborate trap, or for them to want to pump him for information somehow. But this felt too genuine, too honest.

_Definitely going soft,_ some voice that sounded like Katrina Cornwell said in his head.

“Indeed,” Laurien said quietly. She tilted her head. “Forgive me, but… we’re a little unsure where you come from.” She paused. “Are you… are you Federation?”

_They know about the Federation,_ Lorca thought, smiling. That made things a _little_ easier.

“I am,” he said with a nod. “Captain of the Federation Starship _D-_ Starship _Buran_ .” _Be_ careful, _Gabriel._ “Although…” he added, affecting a mournful tone, “actually, I don’t even know what the state of the _Buran_ is.”

_Lying prick,_ the Kat-voice said. He ignored it.

“I have never heard of it,” Laurien said, inclining her head. “But I will speak with Dannik. He will contact the Federation for you.”

“Thank you,” Lorca said with a nod.

“In the meantime,” Laurien continued, “would you care for some food? We do not serve meals that you will be familiar with as standard, but I can request access to the replicator for you.”

Lorca nodded slowly. He _was_ hungry, in point of fact. “I wouldn’t mind some grilled chicken, if your synthesiser can manage it.”

“Of course,” Laurien said, smiling. “I will return shortly.”

As she left, Lorca sat down, thoughts running through his mind. He was _alive_ , surprisingly.

_Best to remain Captain of the_ Buran _until I get a clearer picture,_ he thought. He tried to remember what he could about his counterpart – the smile, the confidence, the love of fortune cookies were all things they’d apparently shared. _But I’m supposed to be dead. So I need to explain why I’m not._

Well, that would be easy. He hadn’t the foggiest idea what had happened to his counterpart, after all. Most likely the man had been incinerated, but despite their differences, he _was_ still Lorca. Maybe he had survived, somehow.

He sighed, and began thinking – he only hoped questions about his origin wouldn’t be too far gone.

_There’s one piece of hope though,_ he thought. _If Laurien knew about Starfleet, and we’re in the Federation, the war with the Klingons can’t have gone that badly._

He held onto that. Silver linings and all.

***

  
  
  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Boo, mudderkuffers. Welcome to my first fanfic on this site.  
> Honestly, I suspect there's a certain lack of wisdom in posting a fanfic on the same account as an original work, but what the hell, I want this story out there and this seems the place to do it. I've been obsessed with Captain Lorca since the first pictures of him in a chair surfaced, and Jason Isaacs somehow made him the most compelling character I've ever encountered (shame about Discovery's otherwise mixed bag, but hey ho, modern TV).  
> Now, I'm going to be honest, I hated how his story ended in the show (we're talking "a guy who hates fixfics had the urge to write a real fixfic" kind of hate), so rather than betray my principles as a writer by doing a straight fixfic or an alternative universe, I figured I'd just take him somewhere where his story could continue instead. Hence, this.


	2. One: Empty In The Valley Of Your Heart

**Chapter One**

**Empty In The Valley Of Your Heart**

*******

_ It’s empty in the valley of your heart, _

_ The sun, it rises slowly as you walk, _

_ Away from all the fears and all the faults you’ve left behind. _

*******

**Stardate 2507.03.22**

**_U.S.S._ ** **Enterprise** **_NCC 1701-I._ **

Whether deliberate or not on the part of several generations of Starfleet engineers, the Starships  _ Enterprise  _ almost all looked like ‘the’  _ Enterprise _ . There were design features that were common across the board: maybe not common to all ships, but there was always one of the key features present in every design. A saucer section, an elegant neck leading down into a sleek stardrive section, long nacelles swept back and extending out from the body of the ship. Oh, sure, a ship might miss out the long nacelles, or the swan neck might be shorter and more integrated, but there was never any mistaking the  _ Enterprise _ when you saw her.

The U.S.S.  _ Enterprise-I  _ was the latest in that illustrious lineup of ships, and in many ways harked back to an older age. Starfleet, after a century of crises that had ranged from temporal manipulation to renewed hostility with Klingons to an invasion from outside the known universe (hadn’t  _ that _ been a fun way to spend the 25th century?), had made a conscious effort (and not for the first time) to return to an age of exploration, hope, optimism. This was reflected in the classic lines of the  _ I _ : her elegant swan neck leading from a round saucer to a cylindrical stardrive section, a glowing orange deflector array and thin, elegant pylons leading backwards to a pair of nacelles that were short, but stretched just far enough back to give the impression of length, movement, and speed.

_ This ship,  _ Captain Alyn Jallistra had thought, when she first saw the  _ Enterprise  _ in drydock,  _ was  _ built _ for boldly going. _

She had held onto that thought for the ten years she had commanded her, never letting it go. An unjoined Trill, Jallistra had always preferred the notion that life was short, to be lived, and then to be ended. Where all her colleagues and friends on Trill had been so eager to go and join with symbionts (or at least  _ try _ to), she had been content to go to Earth, go through Starfleet Academy, and get her commission the old-fashioned way. Not that people still didn’t occasionally think she was a joined Trill. 

It was an old irritant.  _ Any time one of us is competent, or calm, or thoughtful, it’s never on our own merits, it’s because a symbiont’s doing it. _

Still, she thought as she sat at her ready room desk, reading an old book. She had served as the Captain of this ship for a decade. Any old issues she might have had, she had long since gotten over. 

The book was an older one, a prose adaptation of a holonovel:  _ Captain Proton and the Dark Mirror.  _ Written as an homage to science fiction books of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries by the late Tom Paris in the mid 25th century, it told of Captain Proton’s Encounter with an ‘evil universe’, and a gripping battle against dark forces. 

It was all make-believe nonsense, of course. Real parallel universes, even the most extreme examples that Jallistra had read up on, were never so simplistic. Still, it was entertaining in its - what did they call it? ‘Campiness’?

Her computer beeped just as she reached a climactic moment where Proton had cornered his mirror self, the evil Captain Neutron ( _ these names are ridiculous _ ). Sighing, she marked her spot and put her PADD down, before tapping her computer's control panel.

“Authorisation Jallistra, Three Six Beta Upsilon,” she said with practiced ease. 

A moment later, the image of a striking woman with brown eyes, greying hair, pale skin and the barest hint of a set of forehead ridges popped onto her screen, a soft smile upon her face.

“ _ Captain Jallistra, _ ” Admiral Kathryn Paris said evenly. “ _ Good to see you, _ ”

“Admiral Paris,” Jallistra replied evenly. “What can we do for you?”

“ _ We’ve picked up something strange near your neck of the woods _ ,” Paris replied. “ _ It’s some kind of anomaly, originating in the Harlak system.” _

“An anomaly?” Jallistra repeated. “What kind of anomaly?” 

_ “We don’t know,”   _ Paris replied quietly,  _ “but it’s off the charts. You’re the nearest ship to the anomaly, so we’d like you to go take a look.” _

Jallistra smiled. “Of course, Admiral. I’ll have us divert course immediately.”

_ “Good,”  _ Paris said. She paused.  _ “Be careful, Captain. If it turns out to be more than just a standard anomaly, I want you to pull out.” _

Jallistra nodded. “I will take all the precautions I have to, ma’am.”

Paris smiled.  _ “Good. Good luck, Captain. Paris out.” _

Her image disappeared, to be replaced by the Federation’s symbol. After a moment, Jallistra let out a sigh, and tapped the intercom.

“Bridge, this is the Captain,” she said. “Please redirect our course to the Harlak system, warp six.”

_ “Aye, aye, ma’am,” _ the voice of Liam West, her alpha-shift Conn officer, said.

_ Well, there we go,  _ Jallistra thought.  _ Now we just have to see what happens next.   _

***

**Erlös.**

Lorca wasn’t used to comfortable beds, and so perhaps could be forgiven for making full use of it. He was lying down, the cover sprawled over his pyjama-clad body, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling. The diffused light was brighter now, and he was forced to wince, but the light change was slower, so he accepted the pain. 

He was lost in a flow of thoughts. One minute he was thinking of how he was going to pass off who he was -  _ again _ \- and the next he was remembering Michael Burnham, her eyes staring at him with…

… with what? Horror? Pity? Revulsion? All of the above?

_ I should never have gone back,  _ the thought came, too quickly to be strangled in the crib.  _ I should have stayed. Had medals pinned on me. Kept doing… what did they call it? Kept ‘boldly going’. Taken the hard jobs and won them for the Federation. I’d have been a damn legend. _

And Burnham… Burnham with her gratitude, Burnham with her intellect, Burnham with that human heart that even a lifetime among Vulcans didn’t quell… she would have stayed with him. Been his officer. His protege. He’d have been able to leverage her commission, been able to win anything for her. In many ways, she was much easier than the Michael Burnham he had loved:  _ his _ Michael had demanded an Empire, but all the Federation’s Burnham wanted was freedom, exploration, space.

_ All the things I love,  _ Lorca thought. Or rather, all the things he had  _ come _ to love. Perhaps it was the same thing.

There was a knock at his door, and before he could answer, a woman in more elaborate robes than Laurien’s entered the room. She was just as pale as Laurien, with white hair: despite this, however, she didn’t look a day over thirty. Lorca sat up. 

“Captain Gabriel Lorca,” she said evenly. She looked around the room, before meeting his gaze. “I trust that the accommodation here has been sufficient for your needs. We have had few of your ilk here.”

Lorca gave another of his winning smiles. “Well, that bed’s certainly comfier than any starship billet I’ve ever been in. Any Starfleet Officer who doesn’t think that’s up to scratch probably needs a bit of a reality check.” 

“I am glad,” the woman said. She smiled. “I am Eloise. I am the leader of the settlement here on Erlös.”

“Pleasure,” Lorca said. “I’m grateful you found me.”

“Perhaps you are,” Eloise said coyly. Before Lorca could ask what that meant, she continued. “Laurien reported that you say you command the starship  _ Buran _ .”

“That’s right,” Lorca said, keeping his face neutral.  _ Don’t give them an inch. _

“Our people eschew technology,” Eloise said. “Dannik - did Laurien mention him?” At Lorca’s nod, Eloise continued. “Dannik is the one among us chosen to work with technology. I wanted to be sure of the details of who you are. And where you came from.”

Lorca found it was an effort not to frown, but he persisted. “Is there some confusion?”

“A little,” Eloise said. “When we found you, you had a stab wound that was quite severe, to the point where we had to have Dannik use our medical technologies on you.” 

The way she said ‘technologies’ sounded like she was talking about magic. And yet she knew what Starfleet and the Federation was.

“You were also clad in clothing quite distinct from that which we are accustomed to Starfleet people wearing,” Eloise continued. “Much of it was burnt or otherwise damaged, but it was definitely not a Starfleet uniform.”

_ Not one you’d recognise, anyway,  _ Lorca thought.  _ Time to try out a story.  _

“That’s because it wasn’t one,” Lorca said grimly. “It was… it was the sort of attire my captors wore.”

“Your ‘captors’?” Eloise repeated.

“It’s… difficult to explain,” Lorca said.  _ Gotta sell it, Gabe.  _ “They were… it was…”

He shook his head, trying to give an impression of trauma. He’d certainly played that role before, thanks to his time playing Lorca of the  _ Buran _ to Cornwell (damn her), Terral and just about anyone else. 

“I understand,” Eloise said, apparently buying it. She smiled. “If you like, we can show you around while you’re waiting here for your people.”

Lorca nodded. “I’d be much obliged for a tour. Though, uh…” He motioned to his clothes. “Maybe if you’ve got a spare uniform lying around, I could swap into that? Walking around half naked doesn’t seem right to me.”

Eloise nodded. “Dannik will replicate a uniform appropriate to your rank, after he has sent the transmission. I will send Laurien with it shortly.”

“Thanks,” Lorca said, inclining his head. “I’m grateful.”

And despite himself, he was. These people had apparently patched him up: they didn’t have to, and if it had been his world, they wouldn’t have.

“And when we speak again,” Eloise continued, “we will speak of the means of your arrival.”

With that, she turned and exited the room, leaving Lorca to his thoughts.

_ ‘Speak of the means of my arrival’,  _ he mused.  _ Be nice if I knew that myself. _

***

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And now we introduce some of the OCs that will be playing host to Captain Lorca. It’s always difficult finding a Captain of the Enterprise, but hopefully Captain Jallistra suffices.


	3. Two: All Of The Stars Are Fading Away

**Chapter Two**

**All Of The Stars Are Fading Away**

***

_‘Cos all of the stars are fading away,_

_Just try not to worry, you’ll see them someday._

_Take what you need and be on your way,_

_And stop crying your heart out…_

***

 **The** **_Enterprise._ **

When Jallistra entered the Bridge, she took her chair with practiced ease, staring at the view screen with an inscrutable smile. The bridge was arranged, as per Jallistra’s preferences, almost like a conference room: the Captain’s chair at the top of the room, slightly raised, with her XO’s chair to her right, an empty “advisor” chair to her left, helm slightly ahead and to the right of the XO chair, OPs ahead and to the left of the advisor chair, tactical against the wall to the right and a science station opposite it. Behind the Captain’s chair was a row of stations occupied by other bridge crew.

From here, Jallistra could see every station, and every station could turn to see her. She liked the dynamic: the fact that it allowed debate, discourse, suggestions, opinions… it opened the floor for her crew to give her their best, and for her to consider all options.

“Time to Harlak?” she asked calmly.

“Five hours, twenty one minutes, fourteen seconds, mark,” her helm officer, Liam West, said, tapping his console. The blonde-haired officer looked up at the screen. “Dropping to impulse in five hours, sixteen minutes, mark.”

“Thank you, Liam,” she said, nodding. West was certainly accurate and eager to please: the latter was not necessarily a trait she wanted to encourage, but it seemed harmless for the moment.

Leaning back in her chair, Jallistra glanced to her left. Her XO, a pale-blue-skinned Andorian named Hy’ron Thenn, was frowning. This wasn’t in-and-of-itself unusual - his default expression was a frown, actually - but Jallistra always took it seriously nonetheless.

“Well, Exec?” she asked quietly. “What do you think?”

“I think when people send the _Enterprise_ to investigate an anomaly, it’s trouble,” the Andorian replied grimly, his voice gruff and humourless. “We should be prepared for anything.”

“Good advice for life in general,” Jallistra said, still smiling. She turned to the OPs station. “Maria, what do we know about the Harlak system?”

“There’s one colonised planet, called Erlös,” her OPs officer, a pale-skinned, golden eyed woman - an Android - named Maria Doe said. “The people living on it are a technophobic sect of the New Deus movement. Friendly, but they prefer their isolation.”

“They wouldn’t have been responsible for an anomaly, then,” the tactical officer - a young red-headed human Lieutenant named Faye Reddin - said.

“Nothing is beyond the realms of speculation, Lieutenant,” Thenn said darkly. He sighed. “Did Admiral Paris have any knowledge of what sort of anomaly this is?”

“None that she shared,” Jallistra said evenly. “Which doesn’t exactly inspire feelings of optimism, I must admit.”

Thenn chuckled mirthlessly. “No, it does not. Still: this is the best crew in the fleet. Whatever we face, we will destroy it.”

Jallistra raised an eyebrow. “You expect a fight?”

“I always expect a fight,” Thenn replied. “It’s what made me a good tactical officer.”

“That’s true,” Jallistra said, nodding. She frowned ever-so-slightly, and leant towards him slightly. When she spoke next, it was softer. “There is something about this that troubles me.”

“What?” Thenn asked.

“An anomaly over Harlak? Near a planet of technophobes?” Jallistra said slowly, raising both eyebrows. “There is something extraordinary at work, here.”

“But for good or ill?” Thenn asked.

Jallistra smiled again. “That’s the question, Exec. And one we’re going to have to find the answer to.”

“Captain,” Doe said from her station. “We are receiving a message from Starfleet. Priority One.”

Thenn and Jallistra exchanged glances. The Andorian’s antenna were twitching.

“I don’t like this,” Thenn said unnecessarily.

Jallistra simply smiled, before standing and heading back for her ready room.

 _You and me both, Exec,_ she thought to herself. _You and me both._

***

**Erlös.**

When the next knock came at his door, Lorca didn’t even look up. “Come in.”

Just as he’d expected, Laurien shuffled inside. With her, she carried a small suitcase.

“You were in need of clothes, sir,” she said quietly. “These are fitted to your Starfleet’s standards. We, uh…” Lorca looked up to see that she was blushing, and he resisted the urge to grin mischievously. “We knew your size from your medical examination.”

Lorca gave her what he hoped came across as a friendly smile. “Well, thank you, ma’am.”

She placed the suitcase on the dresser, and smiled back at him.

“I will wait for you outside,” she said, inclining her head slightly. “Eloise has asked to speak with you once you are presentable.”

Lorca nodded, standing. “I’ll, uh, be just a minute.”

With that, Laurien bowed and left, leaving Lorca alone with the suitcase. Wasting no time, he went over to it and popped it open, before raising both eyebrows in surprise.

 _This is not what I was expecting,_ he thought.

Gently taking the uniform out of the case, Lorca let out a whistle, examining the material and the uniform carefully. It consisted of an undershirt, a jacket, trousers and boots. The main body of the jacket was scarlet, which he presumed to be a command division colour, with a white band across the shoulder. A badge - the same symbol he had worn, but subtly altered, with a polygonal golden backing underneath it. The undershirt was also white, and high collared. The trousers was black, as were the boots. A brief examination of the badge showed that, rather than being a simple duraplast pin, it was an integrated signal device. A communicator? And the jacket’s closure wasn’t a zip, but rather… some kind of magnet? He didn’t recognise the closure at all: it was like a new kind of technology.

 _This,_ Lorca thought with a less-than-cheerful expression, _is new._

New was bad. New meant that he didn’t know what to expect, that he didn’t know…

 _I don’t know where I am_ , he realised. This one change… it could mean _anything_.

Still: these were clothes, and they were (supposedly) appropriate to his (assumed) rank and station, so he started putting them on. Fortunately, his host hadn’t neglected underwear or socks.

 _Thank heavens for small mercies,_ he thought wryly.

***

 **The** **_Enterprise._ **

“Authorisation Jallistra, Three Six Beta Upsilon.”

Jallistra sat in her ready room chair as the Federation symbol was replaced by the image of a text message. She frowned: a text message? Not a recording, or an actual transmission? Her curiosity piqued, Jallistra began reading the message.

 _Communique from planet Erlös. Claim to have one Captain Gabriel Lorca of Starship_ Buran _on planet, recovering from injury. Ascertain truth of matter, bring Lorca to Starbase 93._

_\- Lizbeth Hayne, Commodore._

Jallistra sat back in her chair, pondering the message. The _Buran_ ? There hadn’t been a Starship _Buran_ to Jallistra’s knowledge since the mid 25th century. And she definitely wasn’t familiar with this Captain Lorca that Commodore Hayne had brought up.

“Computer,” she said after a moment. “Search Gabriel Lorca, Captain.”

Immediately, a file popped up: the image of a man in a blue two-piece mid-23rd century uniform.

_What?!_

Jallistra blinked, wondering if there was more than one Captain Gabriel Lorca.

“Computer,” she said, “is this the only record of a Captain Gabriel Lorca in Starfleet?”

“Confirmed,” the computer's cool tone replied. “There are no other Gabriel Lorca’s listed in Starfleet’s databanks at the present time.”

Jallistra felt her lips purse involuntarily. Something was _very_ wrong here.

 _Captain Gabriel Lorca,_ she thought, looking at the man’s picture again. How could a man from centuries ago be here, now? _Only one way to find out._

Taking a breath,  she began studying the record.

The symbol on this Lorca’s chest was the then UESPA symbol (this being before the UESPA symbol was adopted for the entirety of Starfleet). He had been exploration fleet, then, or at least his ship had worked under those auspices. The uniform was the same one used during the Klingon war of 2256 through 2257, which meant that - exploration fleet or not, he was likely a military man, a veteran of that war. The man himself was pushing fifty, maybe already there: he had an intense blue gaze that seemed to reach across the centuries. His list of commendations was small but noteworthy, the most prominent being a Legion of Honour - wait, no, the commendation had the word “suspended” next to it in brackets.

Jallistra frowned. A suspended Legion of Honour? Now _that_ was unusual.

What was more unusual was that much of the file was redacted.

“Computer,” she said, “show redacted portions of Gabriel Lorca’s file.”

“Captain’s authorisation or higher required to view classified files,” the computer replied coolly.

Classified? After all this time? Why? Whatever the reason for his being here was, Jallistra realised, it had to have _something_ to do with the redacted portions of his file.

“Computer,” she said, “show redacted portions of Gabriel Lorca’s file, authorisation Jallistra, Three Six Beta Upsilon.”

A moment later, the black boxes were replaced by text. Jallistra read the text slowly…

… and her eyes widened in horror.

***

**Erlös.**

He tugged the front of the uniform jacket down as he stepped out, feeling oddly self-conscious at how thin the material felt. What even _was_ this material, some kind of synthetic thing?

Still, it was comfortable. He supposed that was something.

Laurien was waiting for him, and she smiled as he stepped into the outside of his room. They were in another wood-panelled room, this one large and empty. There were doors leading to other rooms, and one set of double doors that seemed to lead outside.

 _I’m going to have to go outside,_ he realised, already wincing in anticipation. _This is going to be fun._

“You look very regal,” Laurien said, bringing his attention back to her. “I can see that Captaincy suits you.”

“Uh, thanks,” he said, trying to play modest and ending up with self-conscious. Either worked, though. “You said Eloise wanted to speak with me?”

“That is correct,” she said quietly. “Please, follow me.”

Laurien immediately headed for the double-doors, and Lorca followed. He winced again as she opened the door, but fortunately it wasn’t too sunny outside. Rather, it was overcast and grey. There were a number of small, primitive wooden houses around them, as well as one large building that looked to be a battered old prefab of some sort.

“Are you alright?” Laurien asked him, noticing his wincing.

“I - yeah,” he said. “Old injury.”

“I understand,” Laurien said sympathetically. “I hope your own people will be able to help you heal that injury. I regret we could not do more for you.”

“You did plenty,” Lorca said, smiling. “I’m here, after all.”

They continued on, until they reached the prefab. Once there, Laurien stopped.

“You will have to go in here alone,” she said. “I am not allowed within the hall of technology.”

The way she said it indicated that some of those words really ought to have capital letters. It was strange, alright, but Lorca just nodded: he wasn’t here to judge these people.

 _I’ve got better things to do,_ he thought, entering the building.

Inside was a reception manned by a boy no older than thirteen, with a shaven head and black robes on. There was what looked like a computer in front of him, though it looked primitive to Lorca - like something you might have found on an NX-class ship. The boy looked up as Lorca entered.

“Oh!” he said. “You are the Starfleet Captain, yes?”

“Uh, yes,” Lorca said.

“Excellent!” the boy said. He tapped a control on the computer. “The Captain is here, Dannik!”

A moment passed, and then another man walked into the reception area, along with Eloise. The man wore the same black robes the boy did, and had the same shaven head, but he was much older.

“Ah, Captain!” he said. “Greetings. I trust the uniform matches your needs?”

“It does,” Lorca said, tugging the front of the jacket down slightly. “Very comfortable.”

“I am glad,” the man said. “Forgive me, I am Dannik. I am the keeper of our technologies.”

“I figured,” Lorca said, smiling. “I’m not familiar with your culture…”

“That is just so,” Eloise cut in. “We prefer to keep outsiders away.”

Lorca nodded once. “That’s fair.”

“So,” Eloise continued, “you can imagine our surprise when you arrived.”

Lorca nodded, swallowing. “You’ll forgive me, ma’am, but I’m not _sure_ how I arrived, exactly. What happened?”

Eloise looked at Dannik, who cleared his throat.

“There was a kind of spatial anomaly in one of the fields,” he said, almost intoning the words. “It stayed there for three days, and when it abated, you were there. You were badly wounded.”

“We did not expect you to survive your wounds,” Eloise added quietly. “Given their severity and the limited resources we had, we feared you would perish despite our help.”

“I _do_ have a tendency to pull through when people least expect it,” Lorca said with a mirthless smile. _Oh, yes, I do at that._ “Have to admit, that last scuffle had me think I was done for, though.”

Eloise raised an eyebrow. “Oh?”

Lorca felt his smile waver. “I… well, it’s a long story.”

“We have a great deal of time for you to tell it in,” Eloise pointed out with a beatific smile.

Lorca nodded, taking a breath. “Well, let’s start with an obvious question. By Earth’s calendar, what year is it?”

Eloise frowned. “What year?”

“Indulge me,” Lorca said with another winning smile.

Eloise nodded, her expression softening. “It is 2507, I believe. We haven’t used that calendar in some time.”

“You’re right,” Dannik said with a nod. “March of 2507, at that.”

There was a momentary pause while Lorca processed that, his eye twitching.

“Twenty… twenty _five_ oh seven?!” he blurted.

Eloise frowned again. “Is something the matter, Captain?”

_Three hundred years. Michael. Gone. Stamets. Saru. Cornwell. Georgiou. Gone. All gone. Everything, gone._

“When I left,” Lorca finally said, his voice strained as he ran a hand through his hair, “it was the year 2256.”

There was a pause. Eloise looked at Dannik.

“There… there is precedent among the Starfleet people for such things,” the robed man finally said. “I _believe_. I would be forced to look thoroughly in the records for any such incidents not categorised as classified materials.”

“I could _accept_ a shift in time,” Lorca said, his voice quiet, “but… two _hundred_ and fifty _years_ . That’s insane.” _Michael… Michael Burnham… gone. Gone forever._ “Everyone I served with, everyone I know… they’re gone.”

There was a long pause as Eloise processed this.

“But,” she said finally, “ _you_ are here. And by grace or chance, you survived grievous injury. That must mean something, don’t you think?”

“That’s a reassuring thought,” Lorca said reflexively, without really meaning it. _Positives, Gabriel, positives. We’re alive, we’ve beaten the odds._ The thought was hollow even in his head. He took a breath. “Well, I’m grateful your people found me.”

“Perhaps you could demonstrate that gratitude by telling us how you came to be so wounded,” Eloise said with a small smile.

 _Oh, you’re good,_ Lorca thought, smiling back at her. It felt hollow on his lips.

“Where to begin,” he said quietly, thinking over this story that he had been cobbling together in his head.

“The beginning?” Dannik suggested.

Lorca smiled mirthlessly. If only Lorca actually knew the beginning, that might have helped. What really _would_ have happened to the other him, back in his universe?

 _He’d be dead,_ was the first, cruel thought that came to mind. But no, somehow, Lorca didn’t believe that. He’d read his own file: Gabriel Lorca was a tough, hard man in any universe. Sure, he’d been more into his Federation’s ideals, but that didn’t stop him from being a _survivor_ . Lorca had no doubt that, if his other self had been aboard _Discovery_ , much would have been the same. One difference notwithstanding.

 _Michael,_ he thought again, closing his eyes.

After a moment, he let out a sigh, and began.

“I was… I was trapped.” _Throw in some hesitation: it was horrible, sell it as horrible._ “Trapped in another universe. A parallel one. The people there were… well, ‘hostile’, to be charitable.” _Very,_ very _charitable._ “I was stabbed and thrown out an airlock into… into some kind of spatial anomaly. Honestly, I’m surprised I’m not dead.”

It lacked specifics, but he didn’t imagine these people needed any. He just hoped he’d sold it well.

His audience digested his story for a moment. None of them had immediately pointed fingers at him and called him a lying bastard to his face, so he supposed that was one positive.

“Does Starfleet often deal with… ‘parallel universes’?” Eloise asked Dannik after a long silence.

The old man shrugged. “I don’t know. I suspect the Captain would know more than I.”

“In three hundred years? God only knows what the Federation has experience with,” Lorca said quietly. “I didn’t experience anything like it before, and I’d never heard of anyone else experiencing it.”

“Well,” Eloise said, still seeming uncertain, “I realise these circumstances are… are not ideal. Nonetheless, I am sure there are positives to be had. Somehow.”

Lorca smiled again, but there was no joy in it. “I’ve learned ‘ideal’ stuff doesn’t happen all that often.”

 _After all,_ he thought bitterly. _‘Ideally’, Michael would have… I would have…_

He stopped, trying to curtail that train of thought before it could get started. After all, he’d never had time for regrets before.

He didn’t like it at all.

***

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You take a man who had a purpose in life, who’s built an entire identity and ego around that purpose, and you take that purpose away. What do you get in its place?


	4. Three: Take Me Home, Country Roads

**Chapter Three**

**Take Me Home, Country Roads**

***

_Country roads, take me home,_

_To the place I belong._

***

 **The** **_Enterprise_ ** **.**

“Captain Gabriel Lorca,” Thenn repeated, scowling. “You’re absolutely sure?”

Jallistra sighed. She had expected her XO to be sceptical: after all, she was still unsure about the whole thing herself. Thenn was sat opposite Jallistra in her ready room, his arms folded.

“That’s the name this Commodore Hayne used, Exec,” she said. “I have no reason to doubt her, even if her message was a little… brief.”

Thenn sighed, his hand scratching at his chin thoughtfully.

“I have read up on the Klingon War of 2256,” he finally said, meeting her gaze. “The great-grandson of one of my heroes was a Captain during that time. Thy’kir Shran.”

“Know much about Lorca?” Jallistra asked.

“Only what the historical records say,” Thenn said quietly. “He commanded the Starship _Buran_ , before being granted command of the Starship _Discovery_. His ship went missing for some time, and then when it was found, he was apparently KIA.”

Jallistra nodded. All that gelled with what she’d seen in the file she’d read. The Mirror Universe version of Lorca had been reported killed after a long gap in which the _Discovery_ had been missing.

The message from Hayne, of course, had said he was the Captain of the _Buran_ , and while that might have been a lie (in fact it almost certainly _was_ ), Jallistra knew she needed to maintain a neutral stance… at least until the truth, whatever it ended up being, came to light.

“Captain,” Thenn said, cutting into Jallistra’s thoughts. “Is there something else going on with this Lorca situation?”

Jallistra shook her head. “No, there’s…” She paused. “Well, there is a concern.”

“A _concern_?” Thenn repeated.

 _I don’t want to prejudice him the way I am,_ Jallistra thought, and she took a deep breath.

“Priority One concern, Exec,” she finally said. “Suffice it to say, I’d like to be cautious.”

Thenn nodded in acceptance. “If you say so, Captain.” He whistled. “With all due respect, all of this cloak and dagger is making me feel decidedly… _uneasy_.”

Jallistra gave a mirthless smile. “Me too, Exec. Me too.”

***

**Erlös**

Two hundred and fifty years.

Two hundred and fifty _years_.

The number kept repeating itself over and over again in Lorca’s head, as he stared up at the ceiling from his bed. He hadn’t bothered changing from his assumed uniform, but even it was a reminder that everything he knew, everything he loved, everything he had achieved, was gone.

_Michael, gone. Cold in the ground, rotten, or burnt and scattered to the winds, not even dust remaining, or shot out of a torpedo tube and drifting through space, alone, cold, preserved in the ice of the emptiness of space…_

He didn’t want to torture himself thinking about it. He didn’t know whether _Discovery_ had even gotten out of his universe, whether she had lived another minute after Georgiou had run him through, whether _Georgiou_ had even stayed alive…

And for the first time in his entire life, he didn’t _want_ to know. It was gone, and the memory of it was gone, and the memory of the memory was gone, and he was alone. Utterly alone.

 _It’s strange,_ he thought. _Before I came to this universe, before I became Lorca of the_ Discovery, _I didn’t mind being alone._

Of course, he hadn’t really been alone then. Michael - not _really_ Michael, but close enough to fool his grieving brain - had been just around the corner, one part of the massive jigsaw puzzle, one piece on the board.

 _The most important piece,_ he thought, unable to stop another scowl from settling on his face, _and the piece whose betrayal checkmated me._

The only question now was, what next? What could he do, two hundred and fifty years away from everything he had ever known?

***

 **The** **_Enterprise_ ** **.**

When they arrived in orbit over Harlak, Jallistra leant forward, staring at the view screen intently.

The planet Erlös was blue and pristine, similar to many planets of its ilk. She had gone over the statistics during the trip: gravity was less than a decimal point in strength below Earth’s, the New Deus colonists numbered roughly ten thousand, the oceans made up sixty nine percent of the surface, the ice caps were optimum size for a planet of this type… it was an idyllic world, in all respects.

 _And there’s a man down there who shouldn’t be,_ she thought grimly, resisting the urge to scowl.

“Captain,” West said from Conn. “We’re coming into standard orbit now.”

“Good,” Jallistra said evenly, standing to her feet. “Any sign of any anomalies?”

“Nothing on long range sensors, Captain,” Maria Doe said from her station, “and I’m not detecting anything on the planet itself.”

 _Interesting,_ Jallistra thought.

“Reddin,” she said aloud, “hail the surface.”

“Hailing,” Reddin said, tapping at her console. A moment passed, and she frowned. “Uh, they’re not responding, Captain.”

Jallistra felt her blood run cold. _Has something happened already? Has he…?_

“Wait!” Reddin called out. She tapped a control. “They’re responding now.”

“On screen,” Jallistra said, trying not to sound too relieved. _Neutral, Alyn, neutral. He hasn’t done anything. Yet._

A face appeared on screen, though the image was ridden with static. It seemed to be an older man.

 _“Hello?”_ the man asked. _“Who’s hailing?”_

Jallistra straightened her uniform jacket. “I am Captain Alyn Jallistra of the Federation Starship _Enterprise_. I’ve been sent here to investigate reports of an anomaly.”

 _“Anomaly?”_ the man repeated. _“We don’t - ah, but you might mean the strange light from which Captain Lorca arrived!”_

There it was. “We’ve also been told about Captain Lorca, and have come to retrieve him.”

 _“Yes, that would be nice,”_ the man said. _“He is down here, waiting for you. I will have one of our people tell him that you have come.”_

“Thank you,” Jallistra said, trying not to worry. “We will beam a team down shortly to greet him.”

 _“We will prepare ourselves,”_ the man said. _“Goodbye, Captain Jallistra.”_

And then the image of the man disappeared. Jallistra let out a sigh of relief.

“Exec, you have the bridge,” she said quietly. “Reddin, you’re with me.”

She turned and headed for the turbolift, straightening her jacket again as she did so.

Part of her was concerned that Lorca, if he _was_ an imposter (or if he was the man that Jallistra had read up on, which amounted to the same thing), would try to bolt, but she dismissed the concerns.

On a planet with no technology, where could one man, especially a man like that, go?

***

**Erlös.**

Exploring the room wasn’t really something he wanted to do, but with no motivation to _leave_ the room, Lorca didn’t have much choice.

He found what little was left of his old clothes in a chest of drawers. The burnt jacket, the broken armour. He dumped it back where it was. It held nothing for him now.

That whole life held nothing for him now.

A soft knock came at the door, distracting him from his melancholy thoughts.

“Enter,” he said reflexively.

Laurien entered, a plate on a board in her hands.

“Grilled chicken, Captain Lorca, sir,” she said quietly. “As you requested.”

Sure enough, it was a chicken, alright. A whole chicken, but he was starving, so it would do. She’d put a salt cellar and a fork and carving knife on the board, and the chicken was garnished with pepper and herbs. Despite his mood, Lorca smiled.

“Well, this looks like a meal fit for a king,” he said, taking it from her. “Thank you.”

“I should tell you,” Laurien said quietly, “a starship has come into orbit. Dannik informed Eloise and she said to tell you.”

“A starship,” Lorca repeated. He sighed, before placing the board on his knee, picking up the knife and fork, and started to carve into the chicken. Laurien didn’t so much as flinch at the cracking of bones. “They tell you her name?”

“They did not,” Laurien replied quietly. “And we aren’t meant to ask.” She blushed. “In fact…”

Lorca crowned. “Yes?”

She looked even more embarrassed. “Before you said your ship had a name, I did not think ships _could_ have names. They aren’t alive.”

Lorca had never asked about these people and their apparent aversion to technology - because it hadn’t interested him, and because he had other things on his mind. Now, though, he found himself curious.

“I’ve been neglectful,” he said slowly, smiling at her - the same gently encouraging smile he’d given dozens of times to - _don’t think about her_. “I’ve not asked anything about your planet, or your people.”

Laurien bowed her head. “Strictly speaking, Captain, I should not speak to you about it.”

“Some rule against it?” Lorca asked.

“ _Many_ rules,” Laurien replied, nodding. “Our sect - the denomination is called ‘New Deus’ - is against technology, and while we show kindness to outsiders, we do not invite them here. This is our place, away from the rest of creation. The only reason I would have to tell you anything would be if you joined us here..”

Described charitably, Lorca’s first thoughts were derisive at best. Coming fresh from war, his immediate thought was that these people were vulnerable, far more so than any race or people he’d defended during the Klingon war. He didn’t say that though.

“Everyone needs their own place,” is what he said instead. “I know that better than anyone.”

“I heard from Eloise,” Laurien said quietly. “I am sorry. I cannot imagine being as lost as you must feel now.” Lorca’s smile soured before he could stop it, and she lowered her head. “Forgive me. That was insensitive.”

“Well, I’ve been known to be pretty insensitive, myself,” Lorca said quietly. He thought, amusingly enough, of Culber, the Doctor in his medical whites scowling at him. “What’s the old saying about turnabout being fair play?”

Laurien smiled, and Lorca did too.

“Well,” he said, “I’d better finish this chicken soon and make myself presentable. Got a show to put on, after all.”

 _In more ways than one,_ he added silently.

Laurien inclined her head. “When you are ready, I will be outside your room. I shall escort you to the chosen meeting place.”

She bowed deeper, before once again leaving the room. When she was gone, Lorca took a deep breath.

 _Well, Gabe,_ he thought, _time to see if we’re still any good at lying._ He gave a mirthless smile. _We_ are _two hundred and fifty years out of practice, after all._

It wasn’t a funny joke, and he didn’t laugh.

***

When the transporter finished materialising her, Jallistra took a deep breath, and smiled.

Despite the seriousness of their mission, she found the scenery of Erlös beautiful. There were trees surrounding the clearing where the little settlement lay, and the road was a simple gravel path. All around were people in robes, walking about their daily business.

 _How peaceful it must be here,_ Jallistra thought, taking a few steps, Reddin right behind her. As she did so, a woman in white robes walked towards her, raising one hand on greeting.

“I am Eloise,” she said, smiling coolly. “I am blessed to represent the people of Erlös.”

“Captain Alyn Jallistra of the starship _Enterprise_ ,” Jallistra introduced herself, “and this is Lieutenant Faye Reddin, my tactical officer.”

“I cannot lie and say it is a pleasure to receive you,” Eloise said, “but you are welcome here. I believe you are here for Captain Lorca?”

 _All business,_ Jallistra thought, her smile fading.

“Yes,” she said. “How… how is he?”

She figured asking ‘has he murdered anyone’ would be a bit on the nose.

Eloise only shrugged slightly. “He is as well as a man who is two hundred and fifty years from his true time and place may be. Would that we all took the pain of loss with such… stoicism.”

“You sound like you admire him,” Reddin said from behind Jallistra.

“I admire the quality of stoicism, as much as any personality trait,” Eloise said. “There is nothing he can do, and so he does not rage.”

 _He might, still,_ Jallistra thought. She had never been a counselor, but she knew from experience that bottling emotions was bad for anyone. If this was the Lorca he claimed to be, then there would be a point he snapped. If he _wasn’t…_

 _Cross the bridge when you get to it,_ she thought.

“I would like to speak with him,” she said aloud.

Eloise turned, looking across the way towards one of the many buildings, and Jallistra followed her gaze. Sure enough, there was a man in a Starfleet uniform walking towards where they were, a young woman in white robes ahead of him. Jallistra took a deep breath as he reached them.

“Captain,” he said, looking her up and down. “I’m Gabriel Lorca.” He looked between Jallistra and Reddin. “I assume you’re the rescue party?”

Jallistra nodded. “Captain Jallistra. U.S.S. _Enterprise_.”

There was a twitch on the man’s face, though he smiled quickly to cover it. “Is it bad that I kind of wish you were Chris Pike in a gold shirt?”

Jallistra smiled tightly. “I don’t blame you, Captain Lorca.”

“Not much of a Captain, am I?” Lorca said, shrugging dismissively. “No ship. No crew. Nothing. Even this,” he pulled at the fabric of his uniform jacket, “is just something our friends here put me in. Not to sound ungrateful,” he added to Eloise, “but… it’s not really my uniform. I don’t belong in it.”

 _Interesting choice of words,_ Jallistra thought. She smiled.

“Let’s get you back up to the _Enterprise_ , Captain Lorca,” she said quietly. “Then we’ll see what we can do for you.”

Lorca nodded. He turned to Eloise again. “Ma’am, thank you for your hospitality.” Then he turned to the young woman who had walked over with him. “Laurien. A pleasure to have met you.”

“It was nice to meet you, as well, Captain,” Laurien said. “I cannot say I hope we meet again, but… well, it would not be disagreeable to me.”

“Nor me,” Lorca said, smiling - the first genuine smile Jallistra had seen on his face. He turned to her. “Whenever you’re ready, Captain.”

Jallistra nodded and tapped her combadge. “Jallistra to _Enterprise_. Bring us home.”

It might have been her imagination, but as the transporter began dematerialising them, Jallistra could have sworn Lorca winced.

***


	5. Four: The Noose Around Your Neck

**Chapter Four**

**The Noose Around Your Neck**

***

_I will hold on hope and I won’t let you choke_

_On the noose around your neck,_

_And I’ll find strength in pain and I will change my ways,_

_I’ll know my name as it’s called again…_

***

 **The** **_Enterprise_ ** **.**

**Gabriel Lorca.**

Immediately as he materialised, doing his best not to wince at the light, he knew that Captain Jallistra _knew_.

He had been careful. He’d started by being as honest as he could, knowing that repurposed truth was almost always better than outright lying. Yet, somehow, she had still seen right through him. He could tell in the way she glanced furtively at him, like he were a ticking time bomb, in the way she smiled a smile that didn’t reach her eyes as she went to consult with one of her officers.

But she didn’t act on what she knew. Not yet, anyway.

She _would_ , of course. He knew that - not only because it was what _he_ would have done in her place, but because, more pertinently, it was Starfleet procedure to do _something_ about… about people like him.

What even was he going to go up for, he found himself pondering. Impersonating an officer, clearly. Treason? Possible. Desertion? Also possible. Heck, _anything_ was possible - he was in the future, after all.

 _For all I know they’ve got the death penalty for what I did now,_ he thought. The death penalty had previously only been in place for visiting Talos IV - quite why, Lorca had never known - but after all this time, who knew?

From next to him, he heard Jallistra’s crewmember speak. “Are you alright, Captain Lorca?”

He turned to look at her: redheaded, young, a phaser holstered at her side. Probably security: swapping the red and gold of the uniforms the brass had put out to the _Connie’s_ made a certain sense to Lorca. At least, as much as _anything_ here did.

“I’m fine, Lieutenant…?” he asked.

“Reddin, sir, Faye Reddin,” the officer said. Her hand was twitching slightly. She didn’t trust him.

 _Clever kid,_ he thought.

“Reddin,” he repeated. He glanced at the phaser. “Well, Lieutenant, it’s good to see Starfleet security maintains the same standard of security officers they had where… _when_ I’m from.”

Reddin blinked. “Sorry, sir. Just not sure what to make of you.”

Lorca smiled. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out soon enough.”

“Captain Lorca,” came Jallistra’s voice. He looked at her: she was smiling again. “If you wouldn’t mind coming with me. We have quarters available.”

 _In the brig?_ he almost asked, but he restrained himself.

“Looking forward to seeing how the ‘Fleet’s changed their furnishings,” he said glibly. “Priorities, right?”

She just smiled again.

***

**Jallistra.**

The minute she materialised, Jallistra wondered if Lorca knew she was on to him. He looked… resigned? Defeated?

 _Or maybe,_ she thought, smiling at him reflexively, _he’s just lost. He’s hundreds of years out from where he was,_ when _he was. That’s got to change a man._

Lorca was wincing slightly, looking away from the lights. Jallistra kept smiling, but that moment all-but-solidified her suspicion. Immediately, she went over to the transporter chief.

“Ensign,” she said quietly, “run a scan of our guest’s quantum signature.”

The ensign didn’t speak, simply tapping a command into his console. A moment passed, and then he looked up, frowning. Jallistra leant over and looked at the results of his scan, and almost let out a sigh.

 _He_ is _the one from the Mirror Universe,_ she thought, swallowing. She turned to look at him: he was chatting to Reddin, who looked tense.

“Captain Lorca,” she said He looked at her, and she smiled. “If you wouldn’t mind coming with me. We have quarters available.”

 _In the brig,_ she almost added, but she restrained herself. It wasn’t true, after all.

“Looking forward to seeing how the ‘Fleet’s changed their furnishings,” he said, his tone glib. “Priorities, right?”

She just smiled again. _Got you, you bastard._

“Follow me,” she said. “Reddin, come with us as well.”

***

**Lorca.**

Oh, she _definitely_ knew. Her smile was almost predatory, like the cat who had caught the canary.

“So, Captain,” she asked as they walked through the corridors of her ship. He barely paid attention to the corridors, except to note that they seemed a lot less utilitarian than any ship he’d ever been on (the _Charon_ excepted). “I’m curious: is something wrong with your eyes?”

 _Canny bitch._ “I was… trapped in another universe,” he said evenly. “They tortured me. Their eyes are more sensitive than Homo Sapiens in our world - and so they decided to make me more like them in that regard.”

It was a fanciful story, but he said it with such a perfectly sincere tone that he heard Reddin make a small noise of disgust from behind him. Jallistra glanced at the Lieutenant, before looking back at Lorca.

“They tortured you,” she repeated. “I’m curious: how did you end up there in the first place?”

“Transporter malfunction of some sort,” Lorca said quietly. “I ended up on the I.S.S. _Buran_ , instead of my own. Right in the middle of a fight. Next thing I know…”

He didn’t elaborate. There was no need to, and on the off-chance (the _very_ off-chance) that he was just being paranoid, not going into detail just meant less details about his story to remember.

“We know a little about the Terran Empire,” Jallistra said. “They invaded our reality a few times in the early 25th century. We still get raids from them now and then.”

Lorca nodded. That made sense: eventually, someone with the _Defiant_ files would want to go to that universe, take it over. Too bad for them: Lorca had thought the same once, a long time ago, but had learned during his time on _Discovery_ that the Federation were less a bunch of scared rabbits than they were tamed dogs. If a wolf approached a dog, the dog might be more timid, but there was still steel in there, waiting to come out.

“So,” he said after a moment. “Got anything in this time for a rusty old ship captain to do?”

“That,” Jallistra, “greatly depends.”

Lorca smiled. _Here it is._ “On what, Captain?”

“On what _sort_ of rusty old ship captain you are,” Jallistra said. She slowed, and then stopped outside a door labelled ‘guest quarters’. “Lieutenant, if you wouldn’t mind waiting out here. Captain Lorca and I have business to discuss.”

Reddin nodded and stood to attention. “Aye aye, ma’am.”

Lorca raised an eyebrow at Jallistra, but she had already stepped into the quarters, leaving him little choice but to follow.

***

**Jallistra.**

The door closed behind Lorca, and Jallistra went over to one of the replicators.

“Drink?” she asked.

“Whiskey, if you’ve got it,” he replied. He took his jacket off, tossing it on one of the chairs. “Might as well get rid of that, don’t you think?”

Jallistra smiled coldly. “What could you possibly mean by that, Captain?”

Lorca paused, meeting her eyes, and then he smiled back, mirroring her expression.

“You know, don’t you?” he asked. “Who I really am.”

Jallistra nodded. “Captain Gabriel Lorca. Of the _Discovery._ An impostor, a traitor, and a murderous, obsessive psychopath.”

Lorca winced at the description. “Well. Who wrote that one? No, don’t tell me, let me guess. Cornwell? Saru?” He scowled. “Burnham?”

“I read between the lines on your classified file,” Jallistra said evenly, not letting anything through. She turned to the replicator. “Alcoholic whiskey, two glasses and one bottle.”

“Specify type,” the computer said blandly.

Jallistra looked at Lorca with a questioning gaze.

“Scotch,” he said blandly, sitting down. “Might as well, right? Enjoy my freedom for the two minutes it lasts.” Jallistra wasn’t fooled for a moment, and clearly Lorca could tell, because he raised both hands. “You’ve nothing to fear from me, Captain.”

“Forgive me if I don’t find that reassuring,” Jallistra said, as the Scotch materialised. She picked up the glasses first and handed one to Lorca, before picking up the bottle. “I imagine you could kill me with that _bottle_ if you wanted.”

“I imagine _you_ could kill _me_ with that bottle, _if_ you wanted,” Lorca retorted. He took a swig of the whiskey. “Fact is, where would I go?” He made a face. “You sure this is scotch?”

“Replicated alcohol,” Jallistra said evenly. She took a sip of her own, ignoring the foul burning sensation. “Why shouldn’t I put you in the brig?”

“You _should_ put me in the brig,” Lorca replied at once, smiling wryly. “I’m guilty of… two? Three? Five?” He paused, pretending to count, before grinning. “Well, a _lot_ of offences, at least by the Starfleet penal code I knew. I can only guess how they’ve updated it since 2257.”

Jallistra considered his words for a moment, before smiling. “Let’s make a deal, shall we, Captain Lorca?”

“A _deal_ ,” Lorca repeated, frowning.

“I have no orders to put you in the brig,” Jallistra said. “I don’t know if the officer who told me about you knew who you really were, but the fact is, I was told to bring you to Starbase 93 after ‘ascertaining the truth of the matter’. I’ve done the latter: just the former left.”

“So, what?” Lorca asked. “I get to stay in here and relax my way to this Starbase, where I then get put in a brig?”

“Perhaps,” Jallistra said, “or perhaps something else will happen. I don’t know what Commodore Hayne wanted from you.”

“Or if I’m even the ‘me’ she wanted,” Lorca pointed out, smirking and gesturing with his glass.

Jallistra smiled back mirthlessly. “Or even that.”

There was a pause as Lorca seemed to consider his options. Finally, he simply gestured with the glass again.

“I’ll take the gilded cage,” he said. “since it comes with whiskey. Assuming I’m allowed to use the food synthesiser.”

“It’s called a replicator,” Jallistra said patiently, smiling again. “A bit more advanced than your time.”

“I’d be pretty disappointed if it wasn’t,” Lorca chuckled. “So. Ground rules?”

“Apart from the obvious ‘don’t try to escape’?” Jallistra retorted. “Well, you’ll have civilian computer access. Stuff that isn’t classified to anyone, anywhere in Federation space.” She paused. “You won’t be allowed to leave your quarters at all. But you should find that they are perfectly amenable for you. There’s even an ensuite bathroom.”

Lorca whistled. “Fancy.” He paused, before motioning to the jacket. “Suppose you’ll want that gone.”

Jallistra glanced at the discarded Starfleet uniform jacket, before sighing.

“For the best,” she said. “You’re not a Starfleet officer, Captain Lorca. You never were, in our universe. Wearing a uniform is just flaunting your crime.”

“And I’d hate to flaunt myself more than I already did,” Lorca chuckled again, but there was something in the way he said it that Jallistra didn’t like.

 _This is too damned easy,_ she thought. _Where’s the fight?_

“If you like,” she said, her tone of voice softer, “I can have the ship’s counselor come and pay you a visit.”

Lorca only snorted derisively at that, leaning back in his seat and finishing his glass of whiskey. He picked up the bottle and poured another, and Jallistra sighed.

“Have a pleasant stay, as much as you can, Captain,” she said, turning to leave.

“Hadn’t you best stop calling me that?” he asked. She paused, turning to look at him. His expression was hard, but he wasn’t looking at her. He wasn’t looking anywhere. “I’m not a Captain.”

Something about his tone jarred Jallistra, and she scowled, remembering his attempt to launch a coup in the Mirror Universe from Michael Burnham’s centuries-old reports. He had been a monster, manipulating and betraying his crew, and now he looked… _self pitying_? What right did he have to that? Any concern she may have had for him suddenly evaporated into anger and indignation.

“Would you rather I called you _Emperor_?” she asked scathingly.

He flinched, but his tone was quiet when he spoke again. “I’m not an Emperor, either.”

“‘Mr Lorca’, then,” she said. When he did not object, she sighed once more. “Goodbye, Mr Lorca.”

She turned and left him alone in the room, drinking the whiskey she had replicated for him. Reddin gave her a questioning look as she walked out, but said nothing.

“I want a guard on this room at all times,” Jallistra said to her tactical officer. “Understand?”

“Ma’am?” Reddin asked, frowning. “Why?”

Jallistra took a breath. “Just do as I ask, Lieutenant.”

There was a pause, and then Reddin nodded.

“Yes, ma’am,” she said. “I’ll have my best people on it.”

“See that you do,” Jallistra said, before walking off, heading for the nearest turbolift and wondering just how the quiet, defeated man she had just left gelled with the picture of the man written up in the reports.

 _I’m going to have to read them again,_ she thought. _And, while I’m at it, request some of_ his _reports._

Might as well read the man’s own words, after all.

***


	6. Five: Just One More Moment

**Chapter Five**

**Just One More Moment**

***

_Just one more moment, that’s all that’s needed,_

_Like wounded soldiers in need of healing,_

_Time to be honest, this time I’m pleading,_

_Please don’t bail on it, ‘cos I didn’t mean it._

***

 **The** **_Enterprise_ ** **.**

**Lorca.**

Reading the history of the time he had missed was boring, but with nothing to do but that or sleep, Lorca had decided to do just that. As Jallistra had promised, he had access to civilian files, everything that everyone was allowed to know about everything.

 _Yippee,_ he had thought when she’d said it.

History had never been his favourite subject in school. Insofar as Terrans really had ‘school’ as opposed to what he suspected any sociologist might call an extremely Darwinian environment designed to weed the weak out at the earliest opportunity.

That’s if sociologists thought in those terms, of course: somehow, Lorca didn’t think they did. He’d never been much for sociology, either.

The entire Terran education system, as well as the surrounding environment, was built first to build loyalty to the Imperial system and then, when the formative years were done and teenage life began, to build the survival skills necessary to _navigate_ the system. And history, or what passed for history, was really nothing more than propaganda.

The first thing he had looked up was the Mirror Universe, his home. Given what Jallistra had said about the Terran Empire invading this universe, he expected there to be a bit of information. The first real thing he found was an article speculating about the lack of altruism and kindness in that universe, and postulating just what a world lacking in loyalty would be like.

Lorca could do nothing but snort derisively at the article’s broad assumptions about his world’s lackings. He was under no illusions, of course. Terran history _was_ a mess of murder, violence and hate, but mixed in were a very few moments of what Gabriel had once thought were merely glimmers of grudging altruism, but had come to realise when he had come to this world the first time were more than that: they were symbols of highest love and respect, because to perform them was to act outside of the expectations of that same system.

 _It’s easy,_ part of him thought, _to be a saint in paradise. Or at least, easy to sleep without a phaser under your pillow when your subordinates aren’t all planning to kill you._

His mind drifted to the story of Captain Jonathan Archer of the _Defiant_ . So the official story went, Archer had been a hero: found the _Defiant_ , killed the disgusting Tholian scuttlers who had commandeered her, and used the ship’s awesome power to win the war against the first rebellion, at the cost of his own life. Afterward, the revered Empress Hoshi Sato had ordered Jonathan Archer to be enshrined as a hero of the Empire, whose death was a tragedy and whose life was celebrated. She had named planets for him, and even christened the second ever _Constitution_ -class warship the _Archer_ (the _Archer_ had not had the illustrious long life the _Defiant_ had enjoyed, alas, but circumstances did not permit long lives for everyone, as _every_ Terran understood implicitly).

Of course, that story was really little more than sentimentalist bullshit.

Lorca had learned the truth about Archer from Emperor Georgiou herself over a bottle of brandy:  had learned that Sato had murdered Archer, taken the _Defiant_ and the Empire from him at the very moment of his historic triumph, and had taken his rightful place as the ruler of the Empire. But not even Georgiou knew why Sato had respected him in death. Which wasn’t, in itself, surprising, since she had no idea how to respect anyone herself. Now, though, _Lorca_ understood.

 _Love,_ he thought. _Maybe a twisted love, by_ this _world’s standards, but love all the same. She loved him enough to honour his name, even when she took the throne from under his nose and killed him for it._

It was the same ‘twisted’ love he had earned from his crew, that they had all been so willing to stay loyal to him after so much pain and torment, so willing to follow him into hell. The same ‘twisted’ love he had felt for Michael Burnham, as he fought to win her an Empire. The same ‘twisted’ love he’d shown, or tried to show, the Burnham of _this_ universe.

 _It was twisted, sure,_ he thought, leaning back, _but… was it real?_

For _his_ Michael? Sure. For the one from this world? He didn’t know if he had loved her for her own qualities or merely because she’d shared a face with his Michael.

 _Transference,_ he thought glibly. That’s what Freud had called it, anyway (in both worlds: some things never changed). He supposed be could be forgiven for it, in this case, since the Michael of _this_ world had (obviously) been near identical to his own.

Tapping a control on the computer, he decided to look up different history.

 _Burnham, Michael,_ the file read. He tapped it, and onto the screen came a whole host of information. Almost immediately his eyes were drawn to her date of death, in the year 2380.

 _She was near enough one hundred fifty,_ he thought. _A good long life._

Somehow, despite the look of betrayal on her face, despite the fact that she had sided against him, with Georgiou… he couldn’t help but feel happy about that. Still, he wished he could have had just one more moment with her.

He looked up her career - or what was made publicly about it. Her work with Christopher Pike on the _Discovery_ ( _he got my ship?!_ ), her later promotions, her work with the Klingons, her work in the Ambassadorial field…

On a whim, Lorca looked up Phillipa Georgiou next. That proved less cheering: a death date of 2270 greeted him, implying that either the Georgiou of this universe hadn’t died after all, or…

 _They brought_ her _back to this world._ Lorca scowled. _Figures. Couldn’t give_ me _a chance, but could happily save…_

He stopped, before shaking his head and trying to ignore his growing anger. He couldn’t keep thinking about Michael, he couldn’t keep thinking about everything he had lost.

To distract himself, he looked up the _Discovery_ instead. Her service history was fairly interesting: she had been refit multiple times, including a period where she’d been used as the initial test ship for the first ‘transwarp drive’ (before the drive was transferred wholesale to the Starship _Excelsior_ ). She’d finally been retired at the turn of the 23rd Century. Pulling up an image of the ship, Lorca felt a slight twinge of… _something_. She looked different.

 _We’d all look different_ , he thought, shaking his head.

When he could take no more, Lorca turned the computer off.

All of this… this _wallowing_ … felt like an unnecessary indulgence to him.

 _But what else is there?_ he thought grimly. That was the _real_ question.

***

**Jallistra.**

Sat in her ready room, Jallistra was looking for answers.

She had searched for Gabriel Lorca’s reports, but frustratingly, they didn’t seem to even exist anymore.

 _Odd,_ she’d thought. A lot of records from that time were less than one hundred percent accurate, but they _existed_. She pulled up some of Captain Pike’s reports from his time aboard Discovery and scanned through those - no omissions, no gaps, just a detailed report of the mission to learn about the ‘Red Angels’.

 _Interesting stuff,_ Jallistra thought, _but not what I’m after._

Failing Lorca’s reports, she’d looked up other reports from that period. Most of them from _before_ the _Discovery’s_ disappearance had been… well, the only thing she could think was that they serve nothing short of glowing. Commander Saru, Lieutenants Detmer and Owosekun… they’d all spoken highly of their Captain’s professionalism, his tactics…

… and then, afterward, after their disappearance and return, she detected the icy tone of disappointment. Worse, of _betrayal_. But there was nothing about why.

With little else to go on, she had decided instead to go over everything she could find out about the ‘Mirror’ universe.

The terminology had come into use after Captain Kirk’s infamous trip to that world. To him, that world, that _Enterprise,_ had been nothing more or less than a mirror, rendering that which looked into it in darker shades. Everything that was noble about the world that Kirk had known had been twisted into something truly abominable. With no context for it, and no reason to search for anything about its history beyond the immediate necessities, Kirk had naturally assumed that that universe was simply, by its very nature, ‘evil’.

Later visits had, of course, proven that the matter was more complex. There was a great deal about that universe that was different: the way people interacted, their attitudes, even the genetic structure of the people who lived there. In a way, Jallistra thought that was a mistake to have ever interfered. Reading up on the consequences of each interference in that universe was like reading a litany of failure. Every single time Starfleet officers had been in that place, they had left it worse than when they had arrived.

 _I am privileged,_ she thought. _Privileged to live in the universe that I am in. Privileged to live in a place where I am allowed to live in peace, free from the fear of death at the hands of anyone and everyone around me. Privileged that the default position for one of my rank is respect, and not hatred or terror._

And so, she soon realised, how could she judge Captain Gabriel Lorca? She had never - what was that charming phrase? She had never ‘walked a mile in that man’s shoes’.

But he had, she realised. For months and months he has pretended to be his other self. In a prophetic contradiction of the famed Commander Spock’s own records and conclusions, a barbarian had pretended to be a civilised man. More than that, he had succeeded in his charade. He had commanded a top-of-the-line starship, led men and women into battle, and no one had suspected a thing until his plan had played out.

What kind of man could do that? What kind of man could suppress his own innate hatred, prejudices, fears, and command a vessel - even the vessel at war - of the Federation Starfleet?

Captain Jallistra found herself looking over his records, concentrating on every single notation after the date of the destruction of the U.S.S. _Buran_ . It had been his suggestion to turn the U.S.S. _Discovery_ into a warship. It had been his suggestion to utilise science in the war against the Klingons. And his record showed multiple instances where he had put himself and his crew in danger in order to protect the lives of Starfleet officers and civilians alike. Corvan II, the battle to protect the Starship _Gagarin_ , the battle against the Klingon Ship-of-The-Dead…

On the one hand it made sense: obviously, he would have had to keep up appearances whilst in their universe. He couldn’t just let civilians die. He couldn’t just let the Federation lose the war. But on the other hand… there were so many moments that just _did not make sense_ . A man playing at being a real Starfleet captain might, if pushed, do one or two things that could be considered objectively heroic. It was almost _expected_ , especially in _that_ time.

But to do all of the things that she was reading in his file… it didn’t fit. Everything that they knew about the denizens of the Mirror Universe told her that they were, almost to a man, selfish, cruel, amoral, and only out for themselves. Even after a century of slavery, the Terrans had brought back their Empire with next to no compunction. But none of what she had read sounded like the man that Gabriel Lorca had pretended to be.

No, not pretended to be. The man that he had _been_ , for the entire time he commanded the _Discovery_.

She was reminded of something she had thought whilst reading that stupid Captain Proton book. Real parallel universes, even the most extreme ones, were never so simplistic as ‘good’ and ‘evil’. Born into a world like Captain Lorca’s, what might Alyn Jallistra have become?

She sighed, closing her computer. She didn’t know what she would have been. But to her surprise, she didn’t know what Lorca was, either.

She stood, new purpose filling her.

_Time to find out._

_***_

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one, I have to admit, has been a right royal pain. I worry that it’s too exposition-heavy, that nothing happens, et al. But I’m a believer in getting things done and getting them out, so here it is. 
> 
> Updates will be a little slower from here on, I’m afraid. I write original fiction (some of which is on this site!) and that has to be my focus. Feel free to check that out if you enjoy my writing. In the meantime, thanks for reading. 
> 
> Cheers,  
> Jed.


	7. Six: Living With My Despair

 

> **Chapter Six**

**Living With My Despair**

***

_I hail from the darker side_

_For all my life I’ve been besieged._

_You’d be scared living with my despair,_

_And if you could feel the things I am able to feel._

***

**Jallistra.**

Jallistra approached the guest quarters: happily, she saw a gold-jacketed Andorian _zhen_ security officer standing outside his quarters, clearly not threatened in any way.

“Captain!” she said, standing to attention.

“At ease, Ensign,” Jallistra said, smiling. “I came to speak with our guest.” She paused, looking at the door. “Any trouble?”

“No, no trouble, ma’am,” the Ensign said, frowning slightly in confusion. “Not a peep.”

“Good to know,” Jallistra said, nodding. She took a breath. “I’m going to speak with him.”

“Of course, ma’am,” the Ensign said, tapping the door control. The door opened with a soft _swish_ , and Jallistra stepped through.

Lorca was sat on the bed, reading a multi-purpose PADD with a frown. He looked up briefly as Jallistra entered, but didn’t say anything, instead returning his attention to his PADD.

“Mr Lorca,” she said, inclining her head.

“Still running with that one, are we?” Lorca said, smirking without looking up. “Nice to know.”

Jallistra rolled her eyes. “Well, until you want me to start calling you ‘Emperor’… ”

His smirk faded. “No.” He sighed. “Well, I’d invite you to sit down, but it’s your ship, so I figure you can do whatever you want.”

“Nice to know,” Jallistra said blandly, taking a seat on one of the armchairs. “So: how are you liking the 26th century?”

Lorca chuckled, finally looking up to meet her gaze. “Well, the drinks are terrible, everyone I cared about is dead, I’m gonna be in prison soon, and I have nothing whatsoever left to live for.” He put the PADD down. “So under the circumstances, I like it just fine. Can’t wait to see what fancy stuff you’ve done to the prisons. Are the beds as comfy?”

Jallistra let out a breath. “Well. That’s…”

She trailed off awkwardly, uncertain what to say. In lieu of her speaking, Lorca stood, walking over to the replicator.

“Something alcoholic,” he said.

 _“Please specify,”_ the computer said dryly.

“I dunno, whiskey,” Lorca said. “Single malt.”

A moment later, there was a whirring as the whiskey came into existence. Jallistra watched Lorca pick the glass up and drain it, wincing as he did so.

“Terrible,” he said, putting the glass back. “Please tell me there’s _something_ better than this out there, still.”

“There’s plenty of places to get drunk, if that’s what you’re asking,” Jallistra replied, keeping her tone neutral.

Lorca just laughed at that. “Well, thank God for small mercies.”

Jallistra didn’t reply to that, and after a moment he just sighed.

“Want a coffee?” he asked.

She shook her head, and he smiled, before turning back to the radiator.

“Coffee,” he said, “strong, black, cooled enough to drink straight away.”

A moment later, he took a cup of coffee from the replicator and took a sip, before letting out a contented sigh.

“That’s good,” he said after a moment. “At least _something_ is round here.”

He sat down opposite her, and took another sip from his coffee, his expression somewhere between melancholy and morbid humour. Jallistra nodded slowly, not looking at him.

“So, I have to ask,” she began after a moment. “Your  ‘Terran Empire’ was supposed to be racist, xenophobic…”

“All that and more,” Lorca said, his tone and expression both perfectly neutral.

 _How can he be so… nonchalant about it?_ Jallistra thought, taking a breath to calm herself.

“You look shocked,” he cut in, smirking again. “You _have_ read up on us, haven’t you?”

“Reading and encountering are two different things,” she said quietly.

He laughed again, but this time there was a tone of derision to it that made Jallistra feel… _uneasy_.

“That much is definitely true,” he said. “I read all about the Federation from the few _Defiant_ files I’d been allowed to see. But it was _really_ difficult to make the adjustment when I was actually here.”

“I can imagine,” Jallistra said stiffly. She leant forward. “So: you hate _me_ , right? An alien in a ‘fleet uniform.”

He snorted at that. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”

Jallistra blinked. “Excuse me?”

“If I were some anti-alien bastard you could just toss in a pigeonhole as a ‘bad guy’,” he clarified, smiling coldly. “Make it nice and easy, then, wouldn’t it? I’d just be some bad person, not worth your time.”

“That’s not an answer,” she pointed out.

“My first officer in your universe was a _Kelpien_ ,” Lorca retorted, scowling. “We _eat_ those. Well, we did in my time.” At Jallistra’s stricken expression, he held up both hands placatingly. “ _I_ never did - couldn’t stand the smell.”

Jallistra felt her gorge rise. “I… hadn’t read that.”

“Your reports must have left that bit out,” Lorca said, not hastily. “Can’t say I blame ‘em.” He paused. “My point is, despite that… _cultural difference_ , I got on just fine with Saru. He was a good XO.” He leant back and looked at the ceiling. “When you've gotta work with the equivalent of a farm animal without arousing suspicions, you learn to let go of your prejudices.”

“Do you?” Jallistra countered, narrowing her eyes. “There’s a very big difference between not _acting_ on those prejudices and not _having_ them.”

Lorca rolled his head back down, meeting her gaze. “You want me to tell you that your alien-ness disgusts me? Is that it? Would that be what I’m meant to be to you?”

Jallistra’s nostrils flared. “It would be in keeping.”

“In keeping with the Empire, maybe,” Lorca said, scowling at her, “but not with me. Sure, I was a bit anti-alien - everyone in my universe was, at the time. But I saw the benefits of keeping them around, too.” His expression softened. “When you get your life saved by them, when you have to force yourself to trust ‘em… well, then they’re just people. Weird-looking people, but I reckon humans look pretty weird to them, too.”

Jallistra let out a breath. “I suppose you do. To some.”

“Well, I know the _smell_ of humans seriously pisses Vulcans off,” Lorca said with a laugh. “I had a Vulcan prisoner once. Rather than stick him in the agoniser, we just pumped a room full of concentrated sweat odour. Made him puke his guts out after eighteen hours of it.”

Jallistra swallowed. “Lovely, I’m sure.”

Lorca’s smile faded. “Well. It was… it was funny. At the time.”

Jallistra crowned at the hesitation in his voice. Was that shame she heard in his voice? Was that even possible for him?

 _Nothing is as simple as it seems,_ she reminded herself again.

“I was wondering,” she said after a moment. “About how you were able to fit in.”

He gave her a scornful look. “‘Fit in’?”

“To Starfleet,” Jallistra clarified, clasping her hands in front of her and staring studiously at them. “To _our_ Starfleet.”

“Ah.” He nodded, smiling again. “Must be surprising to you.”

“A little,” she admitted with a rueful smile. “Starfleet back then was a different beast: much more militant and varied. But it was still Starfleet. How did _you_ … I mean…”

She trailed off, feeling oddly self-conscious about the unflattering way that sounded. She almost laughed at the irony: she was worried about offending a man who was, by any logical and sane standard, clearly _neither_.

“How did a man from a place like the Terran Empire manage to fit into your perfect ‘Fleet?” Lorca finished for her. She nodded, and he chuckled. “Hell if I know. Maybe I’m lucky. Maybe I was the kind of man your universe needed. Or maybe people were more willing to let my ‘bad behaviour’ slide when lives were on the line.” He sighed. “God knows. All I know is, it worked. For a while.”

“For a while?” Jallistra repeated.

“There were slips,” Lorca admitted. “Your crews… they run on loyalty. Not fear. For a while… the first few days on _Discovery_ , maybe more… I didn’t twig that.”

“And?” Jallistra asked.

“And, then I did,” Lorca continued. “Sort of.” He paused. “It was a skill I’d… I’d never quite had to use. Inspiring loyalty, not fear.” He laughed aloud, a desperate, almost deranged sound. “Believe it or not, I actually did inspire it where I’m from. Accidentally. Maybe because I didn’t use the agoniser for every misdemeanour, didn’t kill for every failure. Maybe that was enough, where I’m from.”

“But not here,” Jallistra guessed.

“No, not here,” he confirmed, smiling sadly. “Here, I got fear, apathy, contempt. I got loyalty, in the end, did my best to… I guess, _be there_ for my crew…”

Jallistra’s mind recalled the report from Michael Burnham about the mission to rescue Ambassador Sarek. Her writing had been dry - very Vulcan - but in between the lines had been a respect, even admiration, for Lorca and his willingnes to help. A sharp contrast to the cold, almost angry tone that had been in the later reports.

“…but obviously,” Lorca continued as Jallistra thought, “it wasn’t enough. Not enough for them to trust me.”

He didn’t say anything for a long time, and Jallistra wondered whether he was was thinking of the circumstances regarding his ‘death’. Reading the reports from Owosekun, Detmer, Burnham, she remembered the tone of betrayal. Only now did she realise that it might have been a betrayal both ways. How might _he_ have felt?

 _The same kind of betrayal_ , she thought, frowning. _How strange, that someone who lived in a world of no loyalty came to expect it._

“People betray each other in your Empire,” she said, trying to be gentle. Judging by the sudden furious glare he threw her, she hadn’t been gentle enough. “It’s a documented fact.”

“That’s the Empire,” Lorca said harshly. “You betray your superiors and they betray you. You expect it. But I… here…” He sighed, the anger draining from his face. “I _gave_ something, here. I _tried_. I really did.”

“You were always planning to go back,” Jallistra said, frowning. “Weren’t you?”

Lorca laughed. “If I’d always planned to go back… well, no, that’s a lie. I planned to. Not quite when I did. I would have preferred to give the Klingons a bloody nose properly before I left.” His smile faded. “But events forced my hand.”

He said nothing more, instead looking oddly contemplative. After a moment, Jallistra took a deep breath.

“Have you thought about what you’re going to do in our time?” she asked.

Lorca laughed at that. “What I’m going to _do_ in your time? Seriously?”

Jallistra frowned. “You haven’t thought about it?”

“You mean apart from serving time in a penal facility?” Lorca asked, his smile fading.

Jallistra winced at that, her thoughts briefly travelling to facility 4028 and its ilk, wondering whether Lorca might really end up somewhere like that unforgiving place. Jallistra herself had only been once, to deliver a dangerous Android prisoner.

“Yes,” she said quietly.

Lorca chuckled. “Then no.” He grimaced. “Even before you showed up and figured me out immediately - on which, I suppose I should congratulate you -”

Jallistra said nothing.

“- I was stuck,” he admitted, a frown settling onto his face. “What _is_ there? My Empire’s gone or changed or whatever. The Federation won’t have me, not after two and a half centuries and, y’know, the whole _treason_ thing…”

“There are always possibilities,” Jallistra said, smiling tiredly.

Lorca just snorted. “Now _that_ sounds like a fortune cookie.”

That rang a bell. Jallistra’s smile widened incrementally.

“A fortune cookie, huh?” she said. She stood, walking over to the replicator. “Computer: Two fortune cookies. Random fortune, any database.”

 _“Working,”_ the computer said. A moment later, two fortune cookies materialised.

“Sounds just like it did back in my day,” Lorca said idly as Jallistra passed him one of the cookies.

“Some things never change,” Jallistra told him.

“And some things,” Lorca retorted, “do.”

He broke open the cookie, before removing the fortune and looking at it. Jallistra opened hers, and smirked.

“Tell you mine if you tell me yours,” she said, looking up at Lorca, who was staring at his with a neutral expression.

He held it up. “‘A cynic is only a frustrated optimist’.”

Even as he said it, he sounded cynical, and Jallistra chuckled. She held up her own.

“Prospects cloudy,” she said, her tone deadpan. “Check back later.”

There was a momentary silence, and then the pair of them started to laugh, long and hard laughs that carried more weight than mere amusement. After a couple of minutes, it died down, and Jallistra sighed.

“I don’t know what to make of you, Captain,” she said, deliberately using the rank. He met her gaze, a small smile on his face as she continued. “But it’s not my job to try. Tell you what.” She motioned to the door. “Promise not to try and escape, and I’ll give you a tour of the _Enterprise_.”

Lorca finished his coffee and grinned. “I always wanted a look at one of the _Connies_ , back in the day. I guess this isn’t quite that class though.”

Thinking over the specs of an old _Constitution-_ class versus her own _Enterprise_ , Jallistra couldn’t help but grin. “Not quite. We’re a lot bigger, for a start.”

“I’ll be happy to hear more about it,” Lorca said, smiling back at her.

Jallistra paused, thinking for a moment, before looking at the discarded uniform jacket on one of the chairs. “You might want to put that on.”

He looked back at it. “I don’t think so. It’s not my uniform.”

A funny thought occurred to Jallistra, and she smiled, before walking over to the replicator.

“Computer,” she said, “one Starfleet Captain’s duty uniform, circa 2256, standard fleet, UESPA registry. Authorisation Jallistra, Three Six Beta Upsilon.”

A moment passed, and then a blue jumpsuit appeared in the replicator, neatly folded. Jallistra retrieved it and placed it on the table in front of Lorca, who was staring at it with wide eyes.

“ _That_ ,” Jallistra said, “was your uniform, Captain Lorca. And until someone in authority tells me otherwise, it still is.”

Lorca picked the jacket up, holding it in his hands. The golden metallic decorations glimmered in the soft light of the room, and the blue was a rich, deep one.

“Looks different in this light,” he said quietly.

“You’re different,” Jallistra pointed out.

He smiled at her. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s just the light.”

He slipped the jacket on over his black undershirt: the effect of the blue jacket over the black trousers was at once jarring and yet strangely fitting. He zipped the jacket up (and for a moment, Jallistra marvelled at the old-fashioned zip, possibly the last time one had been used in a Federation Starfleet uniform), and smiled.

“Ready when you are,” he said.

Jallistra motioned to the door. “After you.”

***

**Lorca.**

The first stop was the bridge: the nerve centre of a starship. Lorca had to admit to a certain curiosity about just how much bridge design would have changed in two and a half centuries (not to mention interface design, tech design…).

When the door to the turbolift opened, the first thing he noted was how spacious it was. _Discovery’s_ bridge had been large, but it had a certain sparse functionality to the bare plating and dark lighting. This room, by contrast, was big, bright, carpeted and comfortable.

 _Like walking into a flying hotel_ , Lorca thought, resisting the urge to snort.

“Captain Lorca,” a voice said.

An Andorian officer stood: he wore the same red uniform Jallistra did, minus the white detailing (which Lorca presumed to be the same ‘Captain’s only’ detailing as was on his gold-shouldered blue jacket).

Lorca nodded. “Hello there, Commander…?”

“Hy’ron Thenn,” the Andorian said, holding out a hand. “First Officer of the _Enterprise_.”

“It’s a good ship,” Lorca said, looking around. He winced slightly at the brightness. “Very smartly presented.”

“A smart presentation is the first step to a well-run ship,” Thenn said, nodding once. He gave Lorca a smile. “And I insist, as XO, on the ship being well-run.”

“Mr Thenn is probably the most disciplined officer on this ship,” Jallistra put in from behind Lorca. “Which is helpful, because I’m not so much.”

Thenn drew himself up. “You are a perfectly disciplined Captain, Captain.”

“Not as much as you,” Jallistra said, winking at him. Thenn sniffed.

Lorca chuckled. “You two should go into comedy.”

“Oh yes, that’d be a wonderful retirement,” Jallistra laughed, as Thenn gave a mock-scowl that was too exaggerated even for an Andorian.

Jallistra looked around, smiling.

“What do you think?” she asked Lorca.

“Like I said,” he replied, smiling. “Well presented.” He looked around at the configuration of the bridge itself. “Unusual configuration. For my time, anyway.”

“Ah, yes,” Jallistra said, moving to her chair and sitting down. “I guess I like feeling like my officers can turn and look at me, voice their opinions.” She looked up at Lorca and smirked. “Let me guess. Not your preferred style?”

It wasn’t, but Lorca didn’t see any need to say that. Jallistra had been kinder to him than he had expected (or expected from the rest of Starfleet, when they finally got to the starbase she’d mentioned). Insulting her style seemed the wrong kind of petty.

“Everyone Captains their ship their own way,” he said, smiling.

“You go your way and I’ll go mine,” Jallistra nodded. “That seems more than fair to me.”

Lorca nodded, smiling as Jallistra stood.

“Well, Captain,” she said, “I think we should go visit the -”

“Captain Jallistra,” the Officer at the Ops station - a woman in a gold operations jacket - said, tapping away at her console. “We have detected an anomaly on our current flight path.”

Jallistra frowned. With an apologetic glance at Lorca, she went over to the Ops station, leaning over her officer’s shoulder.

“Anything similar on record, Maria?” she asked.

“A few things, Captain,” the Ops officer - Maria? - said. “It closely matches -”

She didn’t get the chance to finish her sentence. With a sound like thunder and a rush of flame and sparks, the bridge exploded.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cliffhangers suck, don’t they?
> 
> This one was tricky because it’s conversation around difficult topics: there’s a few delicate balancing acts in this, and I’m hoping I didn’t drop any plates. 
> 
> Cheers all,  
> Jed.


	8. Seven: This Is How It’s Gonna Be

**Chapter Seven**

**This Is How It’s Gonna Be**

***

_This is how it’s gonna be._

_This is what you’ll think of me._

_It’s going down like I told you._

_This is how it’s gonna be._

***

 **U.S.S.** **_Enterprise_** **.**

**Lorca.**

_Michael! Michael!_

_We would have helped you …_

_We… could… have…_

Lorca’s eyes opened, his head throbbing. He brought a hand up to his forehead, and it came away covered in blood.

 _Shit,_  he thought, scowling. He blinked, trying to get a sense of what had happened on the bridge.

The bridge was covered in smoke from blown-out consoles, and the lights were so dim that Lorca could barely see. He could see a body lying near him, and a brief examination showed it was Thenn, one of his antennae severed. Lorca felt for a pulse, and let out a brief sigh of relief when he found one, weak and thready as it was. He looked over from Thenn to see Jallistra slumped by the Ops station.

“Someone call a medic!” he called out into the gloom.

“Aye, sir!” came Reddin’s voice.

Lorca took a breath. _Aye, sir._ Two little words, holding in them a host of meanings that, for a while, he had almost forgotten he missed.

 _Take what you can get,_ he thought. There was no hesitation in his mind. _Be a Captain._

He clawed his way to his feet, advancing to the Ops station. The woman - Maria something, he remembered - was there. There was a gash over one of her eyes, and it was leaking… a clear fluid?

 _Prick her, she bleeds, it doesn’t matter what damn colour it is,_ Lorca chastised himself.

“Report!” he barked.

“We were hit by s-some sort of unknown t-t-torpedo,” Maria said, her voice stammering and ringing with an odd, yet familiar, timbre. “There’s a ship on sensors. They’re hailing.”

“Shields?” Lorca asked Reddin, who was frantically checking her console.

As she did so, he went to Jallistra, turning her over. She had a nasty gash along her forehead, the dense network of spot-capillaries making the bleeding worse than it would otherwise have been. She was out cold.

“Shields holding at forty three percent, but whatever they fired caused damage on multiple decks,” Reddin reported after a moment.

“Weapons?” Lorca asked.

“Phaser controls non-operative,” Reddin replied, grimacing in frustration. “And main torpedo launch system is down.”

“Work on it,” Lorca said. He looked around the bridge, the smoke cleared enough that he could see the uncertain faces of the crew. “I’m taking command of the _Enterprise_ in lieu of there being a superior officer around.” He looked at Maria. “I assume regulation 19, section C is still operative?”

Maria paused for a moment. “It is, sir.”

“Right then,” Lorca said, striding to the front of the bridge. “They still hailing?”

“Aye, sir,” Maria said.

“Alright,” Lorca said. “Put ‘em through.”

The screen fizzled for a moment, and then the image of a thickset, scarred man in a Starfleet uniform appeared. Lorca’s eyes were drawn almost immediately to an all-too-familiar symbol on his chest.

 _“This is Captain Thaddeus Lovikov of the Terran Warship_ I.S.S. Novalis _,”_ the man said in a thick Russian accent. _“Stand down and prepare to be -_ ” He paused, narrowing his eyes. _“You are not Jallistra.”_

“What was your first clue?” Lorca asked scathingly. Right away he realised that he had an advantage: this man had been expecting Jallistra, not him. Now he only needed to decide how best to use it. First things first, however. “I’m Captain Daniel Romero, in command of the starship _Enterprise_ . You have violated Federation space. I’m willing to overlook that and let you go with a stern warning if you agree to turn around and go back to the Empire _now_.”

Lovikov paused for a moment, before laughing aloud.

 _“You’re joking, Captain,”_ he said scathingly. _“Your warp drive is down, your weapons are crippled, and you’ve multiple breaches. I have the advantage.”_

“You’re welcome to keep believing that,” Lorca said, smirking. “But in the interests of showing mercy, I’m leaving that offer of retreat open for the next… ooh, two minutes?” He let his smirk become a calculated, predatory smile. “After that… well, you’re gonna be shit out of luck. Screen off.”

Maria tapped her console and the transmission cut out, replaced by the image of a large, ugly looking ship: it had Starfleet lines, that much was certain, but it was a bastardised , exaggerated version.

“He won’t go for it,” Reddin said at once. “He’s a canny bastard - nearly destroyed the _Enterprise_ twice before.”

“How’d Jallistra stop him then?” Lorca asked.

“The situations are not comparable enough to repeat the tactics,” Maria cut in. “This time he has a clear advantage. His ship is a _Taurus_ -class battlecruiser, larger, heavier armed and more deadly than our own ship.” She arched an eyebrow. “And he knows the capabilities of his ship better than you do ours.”

The blunt tone reminded Lorca of the various Vulcans he’d met - not to mention Michael at her best ( _stop thinking about her, Gabe_ ) - but he appreciated it. This was a time for honesty if ever there was one.

“He’ll buy it for the two minutes,” he said, confident in that at least. “So we’ve got _one_ minute to come up with an option.”

“We could confuse his sensors with a spread of multi-frequency torpedoes,” Reddin said at once, “and try to escape.”

“Warp’s out, he’d outrun us,” the helm officer, a blonde-haired man whose name Lorca didn’t know, said.

“What _do_ we have?” Lorca asked, folding his arms.

“I think I can get weapons online again,” Reddin said, turning to her console. “You’d just need to distract him for a few minutes.”

“We don’t have that kind of time!” the helmsman said.

Lorca frowned, something dawning on him as he looked out at Lovikov’s ship. “Do we know if their regulations have stayed the same since the 23rd century?”

There was a pause. Reddin and the helm officer exchanged a look, while Maria looked thoughtful.

“Unclear,” she said after a moment. “There is a discontinuity in the Terran Starfleet, but they may have retained their existing protocols.”

“I see,” Lorca said, still frowning. He looked out at the other ship. “Time?”

“One minute, mark,” Maria said.

“Alright,” Lorca said, “here’s what we’re gonna do. Reddin, get the weapon’s back up. Maria, help her, and see about adding shields to that list. Helm -”

“Lieutenant West, sir,” the helmsman said.

 _Nice to know,_ Lorca thought. “West, I want you to pull the evasive manoeuvre you’ve used the _least_ out of the files, and get ready to execute it on my command. I don’t care which one it is.”

“The one I’ve used the least?” West repeated, frowning. “I don’t -”

“You say this guy’s fought the _Enterprise_ crew before?” Lorca said. West nodded. “Then you need to do something you don’t normally do. Confuse the bastard. Unpredictability - _that_ is how you win a battle. If it comes to a battle, anyway.”

West nodded, turning to his station. As he did so, medical officers arrived on the bridge. One immediately went to Thenn, pressing a hypo to his neck. The other went to Jallistra.

“How are they?” Lorca asked. The officer gave him a questioning look. “I’ve taken command. _How are they_?”

“Thenn will be fine,” the officer by the Andorian said, sighing. “Though he’ll be pissed about his antenna.”

“Twenty six seconds,” Maria said.

“The Captain’s fine, too, just concussed,” the medic by her said, looking at his colleague. “Should I bring her out of it?”

Lorca hesitated only momentarily. “Do it.”

He turned to the screen, resisting the urge to scowl.

“Report?” he asked.

“Shields at fifty seven,” Maria said.

“We’ve partial phaser’s back, though photon controls are still down,” Reddin added.

“Time,” Maria said quietly.

Lorca nodded. “Alright then.” He took a breath. “Open a channel.”

“Channel open,” Reddin said. A moment later, Lovikov’s face appeared on the screen.

 _“Captain Romero,”_ he said to Lorca, scowling. _“I hope you realise that your ploy to buy time will not -”_

“Captain Lovikov,” Lorca interrupted, “I am invoking Regulation 31 Alpha under the Archer protocol, and assuming command of your mission, effective immediately. Acknowledge confirmation or be declared traitor to the Empire.”

Lovikov’s expression dropped immediately. In fact, if Lorca had to make any comparisons, the thickset man looked like a fish with his mouth hanging open.

 _“You… how… what…”_ he said, his voice strained. _“You do not have authority to take any action,_ Federation _.”_

“You have ten seconds to comply, or I will invoke Archer Protocol and have you… _removed_ ,” Lorca said, not backing down. “I’m guessing your crew can hear this, too.” Sure enough, there were officers somewhere behind Lovikov who seemed to be listening intently, and Lorca smiled. “Your ten seconds starts now.”

 _“Alright!”_ Lovikov shouted, scowling. _“I will contact Command to confirm this -”_

“ _I_ am Command here, Lovikov,” Lorca snapped. “As of right now, I have complete operational authority. You will transmit full details of your orders immediately for review.”

 _“I will do no such thing!”_ Lovikov retorted. _“Regulations or not, you’re on an enemy ship -”_

“Do I need to have you removed?” Lorca cut him off again. “Because you’re starting to sound _insubordinate_ to me, Captain. Unless, of course, your transmission is just coming through garbled.”

Lovikov swallowed, and Lorca could see the warring impulses on his face: the desire to rebel, to call Lorca out, to prove his worth as an officer of the Terran Starfleet, versus the desire to fall in line, keep his post, and avoid the risk of some upstart standing right behind him taking his place and following the order instead.

 _“All I was saying,”_ Lovikov said after a moment, _“is that since you are on an enemy ship, we will need to send the information with a secure encryption packet.”_ He sniffed. _“Sir.”_

“Then do that, Captain,” Lorca said, letting another smirk onto his face. “And make it snappy.”

 _“Yes, sir,”_ Lovikov said. The transmission cut out.

“That,” Lorca said after a moment, “will buy us about three minutes at best, while they check their files for ‘Captain Daniel Romero’. We need to be ready by then.”

“What’s happening?” came a familiar voice from behind him. Lorca turned, to see Jallistra frowning at him. She looked a little shaky, but otherwise alright. The wound on her head had been closed, though her forehead was still covered in blood. Thenn was up as well, being escorted off the bridge by the medical officers, blood still streaming down his face.

“Your ship got attacked by a Terran warship commanded by a guy named Lovikov,” Lorca replied. Jallistra frowned at the name as Lorca continued. “I took command and bluffed us a reprieve.” Her eyes widened in shock, and Lorca paused. He took a deep breath, and saying words that almost hurt him. “But, since you’re up: I relinquish command to you, Captain Jallistra.”

Jallistra paused, looking around the bridge, before looking at Lorca. She was clearly uncertain - uncertain about him, maybe, about what he had done? Or what he could do, if given the chance?

 _I wouldn’t trust me in her place, either,_ Lorca thought, giving her a wry smile.

“Your ship,” he said, motioning to the Captain’s chair.

“You’re right about that,” Jallistra replied, her voice a little shaky. She took a breath. “Please sit in the XO chair, I may need your insight given what’s been happening.”

Lorca let out a sigh. _Better than being marched to the brig, I suppose._

“Yes, ma’am,” he said simply, sitting in the chair near her. He brought up the console, and paused, trying to work out the exact controls.

“Captain,” Reddin said. Lorca looked up on instinct, but Reddin was looking at Jallistra. “We’re receiving a data packet from the Terran ship.”

Jallistra frowned, looking at Lorca.

“I used an old Terran regulation,” he replied. “Since your regs are still largely the same, I gambled theirs would be too.”

“Clever,” Jallistra complemented. “Maria, go over the packet, make sure there’s no booby traps.”

“Already in progress, ma’am,” Maria said.

“Ma’am,” Reddin said, “Lovikov is hailing. For Captain Romero.”

Jallistra raised an eyebrow, and looked at Lorca. He shrugged.

“I couldn’t exactly use my real name,” he said. “I… think they’d _probably_ remember me.”

Jallistra nodded, taking his point. “Alright, ‘Captain Romero’. Take centre stage.” She stood, moving to the side. “I’ll keep out of sight.”

“Good call,” Lorca said, smirking reflexively. He dropped it immediately at Jallistra’s dubious expression, and sighed, moving to the centre of the bridge as she stepped aside, out of the viewscreen’s way. “Reddin, put it on screen.”

“Aye, sir,” Reddin said, inputting a command. At once, Lovikov’s face popped up.

 _“We’ve transferred our orders to you, Captain,”_ the man said, looking irritated. _“I await further instructions.”_

Lorca took a deep breath. _‘Further instructions’, huh?_ “Stand by, Captain Lovikov.”

He motioned to Reddin to cut transmission, before meeting Jallistra’s gaze. She raised both eyebrows.

“What kind of instructions can you give?” she asked.

“Depends on the orders,” he replied, frowning. “I can’t just tell ‘em to ‘go away’ if that’s what you’re thinking.”

“It wasn’t, though that would have been _really_ nice,” Jallistra said with a chuckle. Her mirth faded quickly. “So what?”

Lorca ran a hand through his hair, trying to thinking of a decent plan, and then something occurred to him.

“D’you have any objection to a devious and downright dirty trick?” he asked Jallistra.

The Captain frowned, folding her arms. “What sort of downright dirty trick were you thinking?”

“The sort that makes this guy no longer anyone’s problem,” Lorca said darkly.

Jallistra was still frowning. She looked at Reddin and Maria.

“Status of shields and weapons?” she asked.

“Shields are at seventy five percent, we have partial phasers, photon launchers still non-responsive,” Reddin said quietly.

“No match for the _Novalis,_ ” Maria added unnecessarily.

“We do have warp drive back, Captain,” West put in from the helm station.

Jallistra didn’t look happy, but she nodded, looking back at Lorca with a determined expression.

“Well, Captain Lorca,” she said, “under the circumstances, I don’t see that we have much choice.”

“Right then,” Lorca said, turning. “Open a channel.”

Maria input a command, and Lovikov’s face appeared back on the screen.

 _“Well?”_ Lovikov asked.

“Captain Lovikov, I’d like you and some of your senior staff to beam over here and join me for a briefing on our next few objectives,” Lorca said evenly. “In the meantime, you and your ship will set a course to accompany us.”

Lovikov frowned. _“Over_ there _?_ _On a Federation Starfleet ship?”_

“Well, since you’ve forced us to reveal our hand to you,” Lorca said scathingly, “there’s no point continuing to pretend this _is_ a ‘Federation Starfleet ship’, is there? Since you’ve screwed up our cover this much, we need to touch base and figure out a course of action.”

Lovikov paused. _“What are you saying? That you’re_ I.S.S. Enterprise _?”_

“Hallelujah, there’s a brain cell or two in there after all,” Lorca said derisively. “Now are you going to try rubbing the two of ‘em together and actually follow my orders, or are we going to sit here debating like a pair of real Federation officers all day?”

Lovikov scowled. _“Let’s get one thing clear,_ Romero _. I’m obligated to follow your orders. I’m not obligated to listen to you insult me!”_

“You’re also not obligated to be an incompetent fool whose blunders have cost the Empire time and resources,” Lorca said impassively, folding his arms. “But here we are.”

Lovikov bristled for a moment. _“Expect us shortly.”_

With that, the communication cut off.

Lorca let out a whistle. “Well, someone’s easy to rile up today.”

“Once he’s onboard, we can take him prisoner, but what then?” Jallistra asked, frowning.

“I’ll transmit orders to his ship to withdraw and leave me to my ‘mission’,” Lorca said with a smile. “Unless the Terran Empire’s grown a conscience since my time, the crew on board will jump at the chance to replace Lovikov as CO.”

“That’s a risk,” Reddin said, frowning. “What if they decide to attack us?”

“What’s the status of our defensive systems?” Jallistra asked quietly.

Reddin checked her console. “We’re at eighty percent on shields, but we’ve still only got partial phasers.”

“Then eighty percent shields and partial phasers will have to do, won’t it?” Jallistra said, giving a wry smile. “But hopefully Captain Lorca’s plan works.”

Lorca snorted. “It’ll work, Captain. I know Terran attitudes very well.”

Jallistra raised an eyebrow. “You _did_ , Captain, two hundred and fifty years ago. Now, things might be a _little_ different.”

Her tone of voice was matter-of-fact, but Lorca still felt stricken.

 _Right. There’s that, of course._ He took a deep breath. _But we know them._

“Some things,” he said, keeping his voice as level as he could, “never change.”

“And some things do,” Jallistra retorted. “Let’s hope this is not one of those things, eh?”

 _Yeah,_ Lorca thought, nodding as he tried to keep his expression neutral. _Let’s._

***

The wait in the transporter room was short: Lovikov was, if nothing else, a punctual officer. He beamed in with three officers - a Bajoran man, and two humans, a male and a female. Lorca noted dispassionately that the current Terran Starfleet uniform was similar in most respects to the one Jallistra and her officers wore, with the exception that the two male officers with Lovikov had no sleeves, and the woman’s uniform had a bare midriff. Only Lovikov himself had a ‘complete’ uniform on. Comparing these uniforms to the conservative, indeed downright _austere_ uniforms the Terran ‘Fleet had worn in his day was almost amusing.

 _The bare belly’s back in fashion, huh?_ he thought, almost smiling.  The sexually liberated attitudes that had been behind such… _revealing_ uniforms had been repressed by the three Emperors before Georgiou, though she had been in favour of bringing that liberation back into fashion. Apparently, in that, at least, she had succeeded.

Lovikov stepped forward, taking in the room. Lorca had brought Reddin and another security officer in with him. He knew he’d have to be quick with this. _Very_ quick.

“Captain Romero,” Lovikov said, his voice a low growl. “I hope we can make this quick.”

Lorca grinned. “Pretty quick. Reddin?”

Reddin raised her phaser, and before Lovikov could respond, she’d fired, her wide beam phaser stunning all four Terran officers in one shot. At once, Lorca stepped forward, bringing a tricorder out and scanning the four.

“Shit,” he swore.

“What is it?” Reddin asked, coming up behind him, frowning.

“I hoped he wouldn’t be smart enough to have insurance,” Lorca said, taking a small beeping device from Lovikov. “Unfortunately he was. We need to contact that ship, _now_.”

“I can hail them from here,” Reddin offered, heading to the transporter console. She input a series of commands. “Channel open.”

Lorca took a deep breath. “This is Captain Romero to the _Novalis_. Captain Lovikov has been placed under arrest for threatening an Imperial operation, as part of my authority under Regulation 31 Alpha. You are ordered to return to home territory and await further instructions.”

There was a pause. Reddin met Lorca’s gaze, her own expression massively unsure. Lorca smiled in what he hoped was a reassuring manner, but the truth was he was no more certain about this than she was. He’d piled gambit on top of gambit in the most audacious way he could imagine: now he’d see whether it paid off.

 _“Understood Captain Romero,”_ a voice said. _“This is_ Captain _Jackson Laird, acknowledging report and wishing you success.”_ There was an underlying note of smug satisfaction, and Lorca found himself smiling: whoever Laird was, clearly he had been looking forward to this sort of opportunity. _“Long live the Empire.”_

“Long live the Empire,” Lorca repeated. The transmission cut out.

 _“Lorca, this is Jallistra,”_ Jallistra called from the bridge. _“The_ Novalis _is retreating. It’s opening a portal back to the Terran Empire.”_

“Good to hear, Captain,” Lorca said, running a hand through his hair. “Now, d’you mind sending some help? I don’t think Reddin and I can carry this pile of assholes to your brig on our own.”

***

To say Lovikov was pissed off when he woke up was an understatement. Lorca had never seen a man hit a forcefield with his fist before. Judging from the nasty crack when Lovikov tried it, he probably wouldn’t see it again in his lifetime.

“You have made a _mockery_ of me!” Lovikov hissed.

“You did that yourself, Captain Lovikov,” Lorca said with a grin. “I just took pictures.”

He walked away, Lovikov’s curses in his ear, and found Captain Jallistra waiting for him outside the brig.

“You saved my ship,” Jallistra said evenly, her arms folded.

“Well,” Lorca said, shrugging, “I was on your ship, so…”

“So, nothing,” Jallistra said, smirking at him. “Although I have to question just how much bullshitting you were doing.”

“Ah, you noticed that, huh?” Lorca chuckled. “Yeah, I have to admit: my style’s always been a little, uh…” He full on laughed. “Would ‘haphazard’ work?”

“It might,” Jallistra said, her smile fading. “Truth be told, Captain Lorca -”

“Gabriel, please,” Lorca said, holding up a hand. “I think standing on ceremony gets old after something like this.”

“Gabriel,” Jallistra tried, nodding. “Alright. I think, Gabriel, that you were reckless, that you could have gotten us all killed.” Lorca felt his spirits sink at that. “I also think that you could have just betrayed us all to the Terrans and tried to leave, escape to somewhere else.”

Lorca smirked at that. “Where would I go?”

“There’s a great many places a resourceful man might choose to go, to escape the threat of a prison cell,” Jallistra replied. “But you chose to stay, and try to help. And in the process you’ve given Starfleet valuable Terran prisoners.”

“Speaking as a less valuable Terran prisoner, I’m glad to be of service,” Lorca said, trying not to make his sarcasm too biting. “Now, Captain Jallistra -”

“Alyn,” Jallistra said, cutting him off. “My name’s Alyn.” She smiled. “Since we seem to be on first name terms.”

“Alyn,” Lorca repeated, smiling. “I should probably get back to my quarters. This hasn’t quite been the tour I was expecting, but it was certainly an exciting diversion.”

“Alright,” Jallistra said, inclining her head. “Mind if I join you for a drink? I can tell you all about our previous encounters with Captain Lovikov.”

There was something about the twinkle in her eyes that Lorca recognised, and he grinned. “I think I’d enjoy that, to start with.”

“I’m glad to hear that, Gabriel,” Jallistra said, her smile widening.

There wasn’t much more to say after that.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Been waiting for this one since I started writing this. Have to admit, Gabriel putting gambit on top of gambit was a bit surprising, but it felt right as I wrote it. The ending also felt right, if a bit surprising (sometimes characters have a life of their own).  
> The next few chapters will see a brief farewell to the crew of the Enterprise-I, and the introduction of some new faces. Well, for a given value of new. Hopefully you’ll enjoy them, and hopefully you’ve enjoyed this chapter too :)  
> As a fun note, the names Lovikov and Daniel Romero are both from a bunch of collaborative stories I helped work on for fimfiction - Lovikov is the name of a character created by a very good friend of mine, and Daniel Romero is the name of a Gabriel Lorca expy (him using it here being probably the biggest in-joke I could think of). Hope no one minds that indulgence.  
> Cheers,  
> Jed.


	9. Eight: Raise You Like A Phoenix

**Chapter Eight**

**Raise You Like A Phoenix**

***

_Wearing our vintage misery,_

_No, I think it looked a little better on me,_

_I’m gonna change you like a remix,_

_Then I’ll raise you like a Phoenix._

***

**U.S.S. _Enterprise_ , on approach to Starbase 93.**

**Jallistra.**

Watching the starbase on the viewscreen on the bridge filled Jallistra with relief, which was surprising, considering everything it represented. Sitting next to her was Thenn, who was scowling more than usual.

“Cheer up, Exec,” she said with a smile. “We got the bastards.”

“You mean we tricked them into leaving,” Thenn replied. “I wish I’d had the chance to get them back for this.”

He motioned to his antenna, which was still shorter than his other antenna, even with the accelerated regrowth that the Doctors had triggered.

“You still might, if we learn anything useful from the data Lorca tricked them into sending us,” Jallistra pointed out.

“Hm,” Thenn grunted, frowning.

“Coming into docking range,” West put in from his station. “Dock control has taken over.”

“Good,” Jallistra said, smiling. “Let's enjoy the ride, people. I think we’ve earned it.”

There were a fair few murmurs of agreement from around the bridge, and even Maria Doe smiled softly, in that mimicking way some Actualised did.

“Something about this still bothers me,” Thenn said quietly after a moment.

“What’s that, Exec?” Jallistra asked, looking at him.

“Lorca,” Thenn said. “How did he know Terran ‘Fleet regulations?”

Jallistra sighed. That was going to be a fun conversation, when she finally got around to having it. “I’ll tell you when we’ve dropped him off.” She gave him a smile. “Don’t want to risk some Admiral getting annoyed at me, after all.”

“Hm,” Thenn grunted again.

***

**Lorca.**

Dressed in the uniform Laurien had brought for him back on Erlös, Gabriel Lorca was drinking. He had almost nothing to pack, except the old blue uniform Jallistra - Alyn - had given him (which he’d packed more out of respect to the fact that it would have been rude to leave it here: besides, it was probably the most thoughtful gift he’d ever received). And so he found himself with yet another glass of the whiskey the replicator had spat out. Vile as it was, he felt like he needed it - he doubted prisoners would get many chances to drink anything alcoholic at all, even this swill.

 _Well,_ he thought, raising his glass, _here’s to whatever this shitty future holds._

There came a chime at his door. He sighed, downing his drink in one.

“Come in,” he said.

The door opened, and Jallistra stepped in. She smiled.

“Gabriel,” she said. “We’re coming up to Starbase 93 now.”

“Ah,” Lorca said with a smile. “My stop, right?”

“So it would seem,” Jallistra said. She sat on a chair opposite him. “I never got the opportunity to thank you for saving the ship.”

“I wouldn’t say that,” Lorca said, smirking. Jallistra gave him a withering glare, but the corners of her mouth turned up. “But you don’t need to thank me. It was nice to have people doing what I told ‘em to again.”

“I don’t think that was all of it, though, was it?” Jallistra asked him, her mouth still quirking into a smile. “You had some other motive.”

“ _Did_ I?” Lorca asked.

Alyn shook her head. “You like playing enigmatic, don’t you?”

“I prefer the word ‘mysterious’,” Lorca replied.

“I can tell,” Jallistra said with a derisive snort. “You dissemble, you answer questions with questions, and you act like you’ve got a big secret.”

“To be fair,” Lorca pointed out, “up until a few days ago - from my perspective, anyway - I _did_ have a big secret.”

“Not anymore,” Jallistra replied. “You don’t have to hide anything.”

Lorca snorted, folding his arms. “I’m going to a prison cell, so -”

“Not necessarily,” Jallistra said. “There’s a whole host of things they might choose for you instead.”

Lorca scoffed. “Sure. They might get me telling ‘em what toilets were like in the distant past.”

Jallistra sighed. “You’ll never get anywhere if you don’t believe you can. There really _are_ always possibilities.”

“I’m sure,” Lorca said dismissively.

Jallistra sighed. “Well, look. Whatever happens to you, I’m glad to have met you.” She smiled again. “Believe it or not, it’s helped me examine a few of my prejudices.”

“Oh, really?” Lorca said, raising both eyebrows. “What prejudices would those be?”

“About you,” Jallistra replied. “The world you came from, the people it makes. I think… I think that for anyone from my world to judge you by our standards… that’s our privilege showing.”

“Your _privilege_ showing, huh?” Lorca repeated, chuckling. “That’s… certainly a _unique_ way of looking at it.”

“It’s true,” Jallistra insisted. She leant forward. “Tell me something honestly: did you trust _anyone_ in your world?”

 _One person,_ he thought almost immediately, but he didn’t say that. She was gone, after all.

“Exactly,” Jallistra said. “Paranoia, fear, hatred, that’s all there is in your world. And love, trust…”

“They go from being the things you look for to the things you never expect,” Lorca interrupted, his expression turning wistful, “and they’re all the more precious for it.”

Jallistra smiled, nodding in agreement. “That’s right.”

Lorca smiled, a real, genuine smile. Though he’d never sought it out, always preferring to dissemble in his universe and having had no choice but to do the same on _Discovery_ , it was somehow nice to be, on some level, understood now.

“It’s been a pleasure meeting you, Captain Jallistra,” he said, rising and extending his hand.

She mirrored his action, grasping his hand firmly. “And you, Captain Lorca.”

***

Waiting rooms never changed. Lorca didn’t know whether he found that comforting or not, but after the first hour or so, he figured ‘not’. After the second hour, he was irritated, and by the time the third had rolled around, he was debating with himself whether getting stabbed by Georgiou was preferable.

The only positive to this room was that it had a window to the interior of the space dock. There were all sorts of ships floating about. Some of them, he had to admit, were ugly - pointy things that had lost all semblance of the saucer-neck-nacelles design that Starfleet kept doing variations of. Others were more beautiful - he caught sight of the _Enterprise_ herself, and found himself marvelling at the way the basic design echoed the _Constitution_ classes of yore whilst still bringing something sleek and fresh to the configuration.

Unfortunately, Gabriel Lorca had never had the patience to be a shipspotter. After a little while, even the amusement of noting the changes in ship design in two and a half centuries had grown thin.

“Gabriel Lorca?” a voice asked.

Lorca turned in his seat, catching sight of a woman in a mostly black Starfleet uniform. The shoulders of the uniform jacket were white, and there was a scarlet stripe across the shoulders directly beneath the white panels. She was roughly Gabriel’s age ( _or physical age, at least_ ), with short, neat hair and a wry smile on her face. Her rank insignia consisted of five golden pips across the shoulder.

“Hello there,” he said, rising. “I take it you’re the person I’m waiting for.”

“Lizbeth Hayne, Commodore,” the woman replied, extending her hand. “Apologies for the wait. Even in the 26th century, you would not _believe_ the damn paperwork.”

Lorca took her hand: her grip was firm, with a steel that he found refreshing.

“Good to meet you, Commodore,” he said, with a smirk. “Provisionally.”

“Provisionally good?” Hayne said, quirking her eyebrow, her smile widening.

“Well, I don’t know what you’ve got planned for me,” Lorca pointed out, folding his arms.

“True enough,” Hayne said, mirroring his posture. “I suppose that depends _which_ Gabriel Lorca you are.”

Lorca quirked his eyebrows up. “You don’t know?”

She smiled, before lowering her arms, taking a small, boxxy device from her belt and scanning him.

“I do now,” she said, smiling at him. “So tell me: just what _is_ it like to travel using mushrooms?”

Lorca blinked. “You mean you don’t have that now?”

“No,” Hayne said, chuckling. “The displacement-activated spore hub drive was never implemented fleet-wide.” She paused, thinking her next words over carefully. “Too many… _issues._ ”

“Huh.” _Turns out Mr Stamets was a failed fungus expert after all._ “Surprising.”

Hayne just smiled. “So. If you’d like to follow me: some Starfleet officers have… _questions_ to ask you.”

“Figured as much,” Lorca said, sighing. “May have cheated him for two hundred years but everyone pays the piper in the end, right?”

She still just smiled, and walked off, leaving Lorca to follow.

***

There were three Admirals and Hayne. One of the Admirals was an irritable looking Vulcan whose expression reminded Lorca so much of Terral that he would have been tempted to ask if they were related if they actually looked anything alike. The one in the centre was an Andorian man with a permanent scowl etched onto his face. The last was a woman with pale skin, brown eyes, greying hair and the barest hint of what might have been Klingon forehead ridges.

“Captain Gabriel Lorca,” this woman began. “Late of the starship U.S.S. _Discovery._ Is this correct?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Lorca replied easily.

“And also an imposter from the so-called ‘Mirror’ universe,” the Vulcan added.

“Now, now,” the woman admonished. “Captain Lorca has the right to know who’s presiding over his trial.”

 _I think I had the right to know this was a trial,_ Lorca thought, his eyebrows meeting his hairline.

“I am Va’kor Shon,” the Andorian said without preamble. “Starfleet tactical.”

“Kathryn Paris, exploration and science,” the woman at the far end said.

“Admiral Shunak,” the Vulcan added tersely. “Operations.”

“Nice to know,” Lorca said. “I suppose you all know who I am.”

“Flippancy will not serve you, Mr Lorca,” Shunak said. Lorca felt his smirk drop from his face like a stone. “Impersonating a Starfleet officer is a very serious offence. Even given the length of time it has been, you may be facing a severe sentence.”

Lorca nodded once. _Jail cell it is, then_. “I understand, Admiral.”

“I hope that you do,” Shunak said, almost frowning. “We have a few questions regarding your actions as the commanding officer of the U.S.S. _Discovery_.”

Lorca nodded again. “I figured you would, sir.” _Always best to be politik. Might just strip me of my rank if I play my cards right_. “I’ll answer your questions as best I can.”

“Let’s begin with the obvious,” Shon began. “When did you take your counterpart’s place?”

“Immediately before the destruction of the U.S.S. _Buran_ , Admiral,” Lorca replied at once. He cast his mind back, thinking of the confusion - finding himself in an unfamiliar uniform, surrounded by people who at once _were_ and _were_ _not_ his officers. “There were three Klingon vessels surrounding the ship and boarding it. I was… confused. Uncertain.”

“You were the one who ordered the _Buran_ to self-destruct?” Paris asked.

“I did, ma’am,” Lorca confirmed tersely.

He frowned, remembering the cacophony of shouting, phaser fire and other chaos around him. He looked at one hand, and for a moment he thought it had blood on it. He closed his eyes.  

_“Captain, what do we do?!”_

_“Engineering reports multiple boarders, sir, they can’t hold out!”_

_“The XO is down!”_

_“They overran our checkpoints at Deck Four!”_

_“What do we do?! WHAT DO WE DO?!”_

“Why?” Shunak asked, and Lorca opened his eyes, surprised to find them watering ever so slightly. “To conceal that you were not the Captain they knew?”

“No, Admiral,” Lorca said honestly, scowling. He brought a hand up to wipe his left eye, staring at the tear absently. _Didn’t know I had any left for the Buran_ . “I didn’t have time to consider that. I was beamed back to the _Buran_ during a stressful situation.” _Understatement, Gabriel_. “I just did the best I could.”

Shon leant forward. “Did the crew not realise that you weren’t their Captain?”

Lorca laughed out loud. Shunak raised an eyebrow and even Paris looked less-than-impressed, but at that moment Lorca didn’t really care.

“By the time I beamed aboard,” he said, speaking slowly and carefully, “the one hundred and forty man crew of the _Buran_ had been reduced to sixty five. There were over a hundred Klingons aboard, fighting my crew…” He trailed off, sighing. “Fighting _the_ crew deck by deck.” He swallowed. “There was no time for them to make that judgement. And anything I did that seemed out of the ordinary probably slipped by them due to the situation.”

“And so you decided to destroy them to prevent that from happening?” Shunak suggested.

“I decided to destroy the _Buran_ because it was the best out of a pretty piss-poor selection of options,” Lorca corrected, not caring that his curse elicited a wince from Paris or another raised eyebrow from Shunak. “I appraised the tactical situation. I reasoned that there was no escape. And so I decided to self-destruct the ship.”

“But you didn’t allow the crew to escape to the escape pods,” Paris put in. She picked up a PADD and went over some of its contents. “According to your own report, you were the only one to escape.”

Lorca nodded. “That’s correct, Admiral. Standard Imperial policy. A commanding officer must always survive to account for his failures.” He swallowed, remembering more than a few times that he’d _accounted_ for failures in the field. He still had the scars from one or two moments. “I tried to get other members of the crew on the pod with me, but the Klingons were all over the ship. They…” He sighed. “They didn’t make it to the pod.”

“You expect us to believe,” Shon put in, “that the only reason _you_ survived was because you expected to be punished and actively _sought_ that punishment.”

Lorca narrowed his eyes at the Andorian: the same look that used to terrify the junior officers on _Discovery_. “With the greatest of respect, Admiral, I accounted for all of this when I gave my report to Starfleet back in 2256.”

Shon seemed unaffected by the glare. Instead, he gave a small, vicious smile. “With the greatest of respect, _Mr_ Lorca, you were lying then and for all we know you’re lying now.”

“Then pump me full of Veritrax 12 and get the truth out of me, _Admiral_ ,” Lorca snapped. “I didn’t lie then when I told the inquiry board I had no choice but to destroy that ship. I consider it a _mercy_ that I killed those officers, rather than let them be captured.”

Paris took a breath and let it out loudly enough that all the eyes on the room turned to her. She smiled at Lorca.

“Let’s discuss something else,” she said calmly. “I would like to know how long you planned to return to your dimension.”

Lorca nodded slowly. “Truth be told, it was only when I started studying the navigational data from the spore jumps that I started considering it.” Shon snorted derisively, and Lorca threw him a glare. “Up until then, Admirals, I didn’t see how I _could_ return.”

“You expect us to believe that?” Shon asked.

“The offer of pumping me full of Veritrax stands, Admiral,” Lorca said icily.

“So you were content to live your counterpart’s life?” Paris asked diplomatically.

“I was content to be commanding a starship in a war, in the sort of situation that I felt I excelled at, Admiral,” Lorca replied stiffly. “I’ve always prided myself on doing a _damn_ good job, whether as an officer of the Terran Starfleet or as a Captain in _your_ Starfleet.”

“And no one suspected that you were not your counterpart?” Shunak asked.

“Thinking a man’s suddenly turned into a completely different man who looks just like the man he was isn’t exactly high on anyone’s thought processes,” Lorca pointed out with a smirk. At the deadpan expressions on the three Admiral’s faces, his smirk disappeared. “Or at least, it wasn’t then. Everyone my counterpart knew just assumed it was the war. Most of the people he’d been close with were on the _Buran_ anyway.”

“Convenient for you, Mr Lorca,” Shon said.

“Not the most convenient thing, sir,” Lorca replied blithely. “Actually, the most convenient thing was how similar I found my counterpart and I to be.”

“Come again, Mr Lorca?” Shunak said.

Lorca gave him the most condescending smile he dared. “To wit, Admiral, I read my counterpart’s logs and found that I didn’t disagree with the vast majority of his decisions, when I matched them to the context of the rules and regs he followed. He was a maverick, a risk-taker, he developed similar relationships with several officers to me - notably Ellen Landry, who’d served with him before transferring to _Discovery_ as chief security officer. We also had similar tastes in things like drinks, food habits… fortune cookies.”

At Shunak and Shon’s blank expressions, Admiral Paris chuckled. “An ancient Earth confection - a baked one, with a piece of paper hidden within that contains a ‘fortune’, supposedly meant to inform you about future happenings or advise on your current situations.”

 _I’ve never heard anyone make a fortune cookie sound boring before_ , Lorca thought glibly.

“I can see how superficial similarities might make your impersonation easier,” Shunak said stiffly. “One wonders if your motivations were similarly alike.”

“My counterpart and I shared a desire to do a damn good job, sir,” Lorca replied, smirking again. “I figured, ‘why not try and make a good thing out of a bad situation?’”

“Your service record aboard _Discovery_ is certainly testament to an aptitude for wartime duty,” Paris said evenly. She picked up her PADD again. “Corvan II, Benzar, the _Gagarin_ , Pahvo…” She paused. “Some of your orders have been a source of some debate in the leadup to this hearing.”

“Is that so?” Lorca asked, his eyebrows once again meeting his hairline.

Shunak picked up his own PADD and looked through its contents. “During the engagement where the _Gagarin_ was destroyed, you ordered Lieutenant Keyla Detmer to place the _Discovery_ between the Klingon attackers and the _Gagarin_.”

Lorca nodded again: he remembered that moment well. Detmer’s slight hesitation, Rhys’ less than stellar reaction time, Owosekun’s panicked cries as the shields went lower and lower…

“Why?” Shon asked. “Why risk your ship and your crew? By then, surely you must have known you could return to your own reality.”

He had, in point of fact: he had gone through his calculations, determined how long it would take to figure out a perfect roadmap back to his home dimension… so why, then, had he risked everything on an engagement that, surely, he knew was doomed?

“Was T’shen Kovil your friend?” Shon continued.

 _That_ was a joke, and Lorca gave a rueful smile. _I never even knew the man._ T’shen Kovil had been some unremarkable man, obviously skilled enough to get a _Shepard_ -class Starship to command, but clearly _not_ impressive enough to be on anyone’s radar.

“I risked my ship,” he finally said, speaking slowly and deliberately, “because it was the right thing to do. Because it was the only way I could see to protect the _Gagarin_ . Because the _Gagarin_ was full of Starfleet brothers and sisters, whether they were _my_ Starfleet or not.” _And they were: they didn’t wear the badge of the Empire, but they fought for what they believed in. They_ were _my brothers and sisters_.  “I would have died to protect any of them.”

He let that sentiment sink in, and noted with no small satisfaction that Paris and Shon both looked - there was no other word for it - _impressed_.

“Very well, Mr Lorca,” Shunak said after a moment, and Lorca sighed inwardly at the impassive tone of voice. “Shall we continue?”

***

**Lizbeth Hayne.**

_“The_ Gagarin _was full of Starfleet brothers and sisters, whether they were_ my _Starfleet or not.”_

Had he known he was echoing Michael Burnham, Gabriel Lorca might have rephrased his sentiment, but perhaps it was just as well for him that he hadn’t known and hadn’t rephrased. The emotive language had no sway on Shunak, but Shon and Paris had both been impressed enough to vote against him… and in favour of Hayne’s preference.

“You’re sure that he won’t bolt?” Shon asked as a final parting from Hayne’s office.

“I’m not sure about anything, Admiral,” Hayne replied evenly. “But that just means I’m prepared for _everything_.”

Shon left it there, walking out of the room without another word, and leaving just Kathryn Paris and Hayne alone in the latter’s office. Paris let out a whistle.

“Well, he’s certainly… _interesting_ ,” the Admiral said, leaning on the desk. “You sure know how to pick ‘em.”

“I _picked_ nothing,” Hayne said with a dismissive wave of her hand. “I didn’t even know which Lorca we’d get.”

“Bull,” Paris snorted. “You knew we’d get this one. Captain Lorca of the _Buran_ was never going to magically appear after centuries.”

“Neither was Lorca of _Discovery_ ,” Hayne retorted, though privately she agreed. Their universe’s own Lorca had vanished forever, most likely blown to pieces along with the I.S.S. _Buran_ in the Mirror Universe. “And yet.”

“And yet,” Paris agreed, sighing. “I have to say, off the record, I am still _very_ dubious about all of this.”

“I know what you mean,” Hayne said, smirking. “Here’s a man who commanded a Federation starship, saved Federation lives, and then betrayed her crew and risked their lives so he could lead a coup.” She paused, before tapping a control on her computer. “I want you to watch this.”

She brought up a picture: Gabriel Lorca, his face covered in blood, a smile on his face.

 _“Saru. It's good to see you,”_ he said, seeming to stare out at the two women. _“I'm glad I got a chance to say good-bye to you, and the rest of the crew. I want you to know that my admiration for you was and is sincere.”_ Paris quirked her eyebrows at that. _“When I look at you, I see the formidable unit of soldiers that I sculpted. If I thought for a second that any of you were capable of relinquishing this cult-like devotion to the Federation, I'd enlist your skills today.”_

 _“We are not interested in your sentiments,”_ a new voice said, but Hayne cut it off before it could continue.

“They felt betrayed,” Paris said quietly. “Who can blame them?”

“It reads like that from their reports, too,” Hayne said quietly. “What do you think of what he said?”

“Which part?” Paris replied, smiling wryly. “‘Cult-like devotion’ is an accusation plenty of people throw at Starfleet officers.”

“And sometimes, history proves them right,” Hayne reminded her. “I’m more interested in his expression of admiration.”

“You mean, was it genuine?” Paris asked. Hayne nodded, and Paris took a deep breath. “I don’t know. Honestly, barring a mind meld or a Betazoid, I don’t think we’ll ever know. Maybe it was. Maybe it was manipulation. We can’t be sure yet.” She smiled. “We could always do as he suggested and pump him full of Veritrax.”

Paris snorted. “I might take you up on that.” She paused. “So. When are you going to tell him?”

“In an hour, once Alpha-32 arrives,” Hayne said. “She says she’s looking forward to meeting him.”

“In as much as an Artie can look forward to anything,” Paris said derisively. She held up her hands in an apologetic gesture as Hayne turned a stern expression on her. “I know, I know, they don’t like ‘Artie’…”

“I’m surprised at you, using outdated terminology like that,” Hayne said honestly.

“Says the woman planning on employing an outdated _officer_ ,” Paris pointed out. “Anyway, some habits die hard.”

“We’d better hope some of _Lorca’s_ habits die easier,” Hayne said with a smirk. “Or we’re gonna be straight up screwed.”

***

**Lorca.**

At some point, Lorca knew, he would go insane in this Goddamn waiting room. He was at least partially sure it was a tactic designed to wear him down.

 _Clever,_ he thought absently.

He had taken to reading up more on history with his PADD. Alien races were an interesting one - there were a few first contacts the Federation had made that were of no surprise to him, such as the Bajorans and Cardassians, but there were some names he didn’t know. He was about to click on ‘The Borg’ when the door to the waiting room opened, and Hayne stepped through, smiling.

“Captain Lorca,” she said, smiling. “I hope the wait hasn’t been too excruciating this time.”

He simply smiled: no sense letting on how frustrated he was.

“Just been catching up on history,” he said, brandishing the PADD. “Pretty interesting stuff.”

“That’s good to hear,” Hayne said. She took a breath, letting the anticipation build for a moment in a way Lorca might almost admire. “I’ve been speaking with the Admirals, and they’ve agreed to go with my recommendation for your fate.”

Lorca quirked his lips in an almost-smirk. “Which is?”

“That you be given a command and put to use,” Hayne replied, smiling. “Suffice it to say, Captain, there are no ‘free rides’ in our fleet.”

Lorca almost laughed at that, the echo of his own words to Michael so long ago tickling him, at least until he remembered Michael’s last expression.

“You’ve got practical skills,” Hayne continued, not noticing or caring about his thoughts, “and we intend to put them to good use.”

Lorca blinked, surprised. “My ‘skills’ are two centuries out of date.”

“Space hasn’t magically stopped being space, Captain,” Hayne said, folding her arms. “We’re not asking a sailor to fly a starship, we’re asking a Captain to be a Captain.”

Lorca digested that for a moment. “What ship?”

Hayne smiled. “An old _Exeter-_ class ship they were going to decommission, at least before I made a case to keep her on. Based loosely on the _Constitution_ -class you’d be familiar with. We can have her optimised for your preferences - even pick a new name for her, if you like.”

Now _that_ all sounded _very_ enticing. “What’s the catch?”

“Reporting to me, doing the missions I tell you, and letting me pick the majority of your crew,” Hayne said at once, still smiling. “But you’ll find me a lenient taskmaster with a lot of ‘fly without portfolio’ missions on my books for a Captain that puts me in a good mood, and I don’t pick dud officers.”

Lorca nodded slowly. He preferred picking his own crew - always had - but he could sacrifice that for now if it meant some measure of freedom.

“I assume it’s this or a penal colony,” he said flippantly.

“I happen to know that Admiral Shunak was sizing up a lovely cell in New Zealand,” Hayne said glibly. “If that’s what you’d prefer.”

“Not at all, Commodore,” Lorca said with a grin. “I’ll take the command.”

“Excellent,” Hayne said. “One more thing: I’ve a candidate for your XO that I think you’ll want to meet before you see your ship.”

Lorca folded his arms. “Alright?”

Hayne smiled, before tapping her combadge. “Commander Alpha-32, please come in.”

A moment later, a woman entered the waiting room. She wore the same red uniform Commander Thenn had on _Enterprise_ , with three shiny gold pips pinned to her collar. Her skin was dark, with neatly combed, nearly-black hair. She had a neutral expression on her face as she came to stand in front of Lorca, her hands folded crisply behind her back.

“Captain Lorca, sir,” she said, her tone formal and polite. “It is good to finally meet you.”

Lorca’s mouth fell open, and he gaped at the officer in astonishment.

She was the spitting image of Michael Burnham.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that was a cliffhanger!
> 
> Fun facts:  
> Admiral Shon is a descendent of Captain Va’Kel Shon (and Kathryn Paris is obviously a descendent of the Parises from Voyager).  
> The Exeter class ship is a variant of the cruiser from Star Trek Online.  
> I haven’t got much in the way of backstory for what happened on the _Buran_ , but I’m probably going to go into it at some point.
> 
> This chapter was _really_ hard. Like, _really_. Balancing canon and fanon, my interpretation of Lorca against the evidence of the episodes themselves… it’s a pain, but I hope I struck the right balance. I kind of do and don’t want to exonerate Lorca all at once - to acknowledge that he was clearly Terran with certain attitudes, whilst reinterpreting it to make this story… well, work. 
> 
> And that cliffhanger was one I debated on for a while. Actually, the character we’ve just met/are about to meet is one I’ve debated on for a while. I didn’t know whether she was a good idea. I’ll let you guys decide when we meet her properly next chapter :-)
> 
> In the meantime, I have a ship to name, which is going to be… fun. 
> 
> Cheers all,  
> Jed.


	10. Nine: Your World’s Not All It Seems

**Chapter Nine**

**Your World’s Not All It Seems**

***

_I had the strangest feeling_

_Your world’s not all it seems_

_So tired of misconceiving_

_What else this could have been_

***

**Commander Alpha-32**

Gabriel Lorca’s reaction upon seeing her was… _intriguing_ , to say the least. His eyes widened, his breathing became more rapid, and he stepped back from her.

“This is Commander Alpha-32,” Commodore Lizbeth Hayne said from next to Alpha-32. “Apologies if she looks… unsettling. Or familiar. Or unsettlingly familiar, as the case may be.”

Commodore Hayne chuckled after saying this, implying that she was amused by either the comment or some private thought associated with it (or, possibly, at some unrelated matter, but Alpha-32 calculates the possibility of the humour being unrelated at approximately 0.003%). Gabriel Lorca did not react with similar amusement, instead visibly attempting to restrain his breathing. Alpha-32 ran through the possibilities, and came to the conclusion after almost one whole second of deliberation that it was something to do with her appearance. 0.02 seconds later, she realised that there was a 58% probability (based on Michael Burnham’s logs and the prevalent theories and available data surrounding Gabriel Lorca’s presumed death) that Gabriel Lorca did not, in fact, have positive feelings towards Michael Burnham, and was not, in fact, put at ease by seeing Burnham’s face.

“I understand my appearance is, perhaps, a concern,” she said, keeping her tone as level as possible, “but I selected it to facilitate ease of relatability between the two of us on your new assignment.”

“Ease… ease of _relatability_ ,” Lorca repeated. He swallowed, a reflexive reaction to his discomfort. “You - you’re _serious_?!”

Alpha-32 raised the possibility of Lorca being discomfited to 68%.

“Always,” she said. She attempted a ‘reassuring smile’. “It is my aim to -”

Lorca laughed loudly. Alpha-32 closed her mouth, uncertain how to respond.

“Jesus, you’re joking, Commodore!” the Captain said to Hayne. “You’re _joking_!”

Commodore Hayne was, in fact, smiling, though whether this meant that she was joking or not, Alpha-32 could not tell.

“Not at all, Captain Lorca,” the Commodore said. Alpha-32 calculated a 74% possibility that this statement was a falsehood. “Alpha-32 is a specially-designed Android -”

“A gynoid, technically, ma’am,” Alpha-32 cut in. The technicality was important, after all.

“- made to operate smoothly on Starfleet ships,” Hayne finished, still smiling.

“She’s a _robot_?!” Lorca hissed, looking even more discomforted.

At this, the Commodore’s expression became less amused. “She’s a fully fledged officer, with rights and responsibilities like any Federation citizen.”

 _Incorrect,_ Alpha-32 wanted to say. Her internal database, almost as an involuntary response, came up with nine hundred and forty seven separate instances that proved that she, and others like her, were not equal to organic officers in the slightest. But saying that would prove impolitic, of that she was sure.

Lorca swallowed again. “May I speak with you in private, Commodore?”

“Nope,” Hayne said quickly. “I have the rest of your crew to prepare for you, and a ship. And _you_ have an XO to get to know.”

She left without another word, leaving Alpha-32 alone with the Captain. She considered her next words extremely carefully: in the two seconds between the Commodore’s departure and her next sentence, she had calculated over eighteen thousand potential things to say.

“My apologies,” she finally said, tilting her head. “I was not aware that you would have an adverse reaction to this appearance.”

That was not, strictly, true. She had calculated that there was a possibility he would react negatively - but she had only calculated it at 18.2%. That had clearly been an error, and proof (if proof were needed) that she still needed more practical experience with organic personnel.

Lorca took a breath, before finally replying. “You’re a robot.”

“The _correct_ term is Artificial Intelligence,” Alpha-32 corrected.

“And you’re fully qualified to be a Starfleet Officer?” he asked.

It was a valid concern from a Starfleet Officer from the 23rd Century, and so she responded more fully than she might otherwise have elected to. “I was commissioned seven months ago. Six months of that was spent doing what I believe is termed ‘running in’ of my systems. One month ago, I chose to enter Starfleet. I was fast-tracked to this position.”

He didn’t reply, and a brief analysis of his body language suggested that he had not even really been listening.

“Would you prefer to be left alone for the moment?” Alpha-32 asked after three seconds of waiting for a response.

It was another three seconds before he replied. “I would like you to go somewhere and meet me here in… one hour. When you do, I want a crew list and a series of specs for the _Exeter-_ class.”

Alpha-32 nodded. This was obviously an effort to dismiss her from his presence, but he had requested that she do something useful, and so she did not object.

“Yes, sir,” she said.

“And Commander…” Lorca added, before pausing and sighing. “Do I have to use the full thing?”

To Alpha-32’s proverbial shame (indeed, she was certain that if she ever activated her emotional circuits she would be thoroughly embarrassed by it), she had yet to choose a name beyond the factory-standard name she had been assigned.

“The name ‘Alpha-32’ is only a placeholder, sir,” she told him. She tilted her head. “If you like, I could always pick another.”

She had certainly given _that_ topic a lot of thought. _Annabelle, Lilith, Geraldine, Gertrude, Kathryn, Elizabeth, Sarah, T’meni, T’prea, Saavo, Va’lya..._

“Whatever,” Lorca said, waving a hand in a clearly dismissive manner. “Call yourself Robbie the Robot for all I care.”

“I am not a robot,” she told him.

“I don’t give a damn,” Lorca snapped at her, “just _go_.”

Alpha-32 nodded, and left without another word. Lorca was clearly now reaching an emotional point where he truly had nothing to say to her, and antagonising him seemed unwise.

And, after all, she had a report to give.

***

**Lorca.**

Lorca blinked, stepping back slightly. The woman - _MichaelMichaelMichael_ \- was staring at him impassively.

“This is Commander Alpha-32,” Hayne said, motioning to the woman with a small smile. “Apologies if she looks… unsettling. Or familiar. Or unsettlingly familiar, as the case may be.”

Hayne chuckled, as if at some private joke, which was a joke in itself since this joke was so insultingly obvious. Lorca was too shocked to call her out on it, though. He tried to steady his breathing. _Calm down, calm down, calm down…_

“I understand my appearance is, perhaps, a concern,” Alpha-32 ( _MICHAEL!_ ) said evenly, “but I selected it to facilitate ease of relatability between the two of us on your new assignment.”

“Ease… ease of _relatability_ ,” Lorca repeated, swallowing. “You - you’re _serious_?!”

“Always,” Alpha-32 said. A very slight, very un-Michael smile graced her features. “It is my aim to -”

Lorca laughed, a wild, desperate thing. “Jesus, you’re joking, Commodore! You’re _joking_!”

Hayne’s expression was unsettlingly friendly. “Not at all, Captain Lorca. Alpha-32 is a specially-designed Android -”

“A gynoid, technically, ma’am,” Alpha-32 cut in.

“- made to operate smoothly on Starfleet ships,” Hayne finished, still smiling.

“She’s a _robot_?!” Lorca hissed.

Hayne’s smile faded somewhat. “She’s a fully fledged officer, with rights and responsibilities like any Federation citizen.”

Had either of the humans been paying attention, they might have seen a flash of _something_ in Alpha-32’s eyes. But neither were, and her expression returned to the neutral smile in short order.

Lorca swallowed. “May I speak with you in private, Commodore?”

“Nope,” Hayne said glibly. “I have the rest of your crew to prepare for you, and a ship. And _you_ have an XO to get to know.”

Without another word, she turned around and left, leaving Lorca alone with… _her_.

_Michael. Not Michael. Michael. Not. Not. Not._

“My apologies,” Alpha-32 said after a moment, tilting her head. “I was not aware that you would have an adverse reaction to this appearance.”

 _How else am I supposed to react?!_ Lorca thought, but he took a breath, willing himself to be back in control.

“You’re a robot,” he said again.

“The _correct_ term is Artificial Intelligence,” Alpha-32 said evenly.

“And you’re fully qualified to be a Starfleet Officer?” he asked reflexively.

“I was commissioned seven months ago,” she replied. “Six months of that was spent doing what I believe is termed ‘running in’ of my systems. One month ago, I chose to enter Starfleet. I was fast-tracked to this position.”

Lorca wasn’t really listening to her, so caught up he was in what she looked like, what she represented. He sat back down, putting his head in his hands, not caring that it made him look rattled. Dammit, he _was_ rattled!

“Would you prefer to be left alone for the moment?” Alpha-32 asked.

Lorca swallowed. “I would like you to go somewhere and meet me here in…” _How long do I need? Is any amount of time enough?_ “One hour.” _Nice, round figure._ “When you do, I want a crew list and a series of specs for the _Exeter-_ class.”

“Yes, sir,” Alpha-32 said, smiling in that neutered, emotionless way she seemed to. It looked entirely wrong on Michael Burnham’s face.

“And Commander…” He paused, sighing. “Do I have to use the full thing?”

“The name ‘Alpha-32’ is only a placeholder, sir,” she replied with another of those empty smiles. She tilted her head. “If you like, I could always pick another.”

“Whatever,” Lorca said, waving a hand. “Call yourself Robbie the Robot for all I care.”

“I am not a robot,” she said, her head still tilted.

“I don’t give a damn,” Lorca snapped, “just _go_.”

Alpha-32 nodded, and left without another word. Lorca stayed sat, his mind reeling, and feeling once again that horrible combination - the loss of everything he had ever had, and  something worse. The fear that none of it had ever mattered in the first place.

***

**Commodore Hayne’s office.**

**Commander Alpha-32**

“Your opinion?” Commodore Hayne asked her a few minutes later in the Commodore’s office. She had her hands clasped in front of her in what Alpha-32’s body-language analysis subroutine told her was a professional manner. There was an 82.6714 percent chance that this was an affectation.

Alpha-32’s response was clinical and to-the-point as she sat down in front of the Commodore. “Difficulty trusting others, certainty. Paranoia, probably. PTSD, strong possibility.”

“And your suggestions for dealing with these issues?” Hayne continued.

Alpha-32 considered the options at her disposal, then reconsidered them. There were a vast number of possible actions and alternative outcomes, and calculating the best course became increasingly difficult when factoring in Gabriel Lorca’s eccentricities.

One and a half seconds later, she answered Hayne’s question. “First I must gain his trust. This will be achieved through acts of kindness that appease him on an emotional level, and by remaining attentive to his emotional needs throughout our assignment.”

Hayne paused at that. “How, _exactly_ , will you ‘appease him on an emotional level’?”

Alpha-32 immediately listed her top two suggestions: humans and other organic beings tended to lose focus once she went beyond two options, especially if she decided to go into detail about those options (which, naturally, she did). And all Hayne did was blink at her.

“Oh,” she said after a moment. “That… might actually work.”

Alpha-32 didn’t have active emotional circuits - having considered activating them during her training, she had come to the conclusion that keeping them active was detrimental to the potential efficiency of an officer. Nonetheless, she allowed herself a brief bit of detached, logical satisfaction at the Commodore’s response.

***

**Hayne.**

“Your opinion?” Hayne began without preamble as Alpha-32 entered her office.

The android/gynoid/artificial intellegence/ _actualised_ intelligence/whatever the hell you were supposed to call them nowadays sat down, and tilted her head.

“Difficulty trusting others, certainty,” she began. “Paranoia, probably. PTSD, strong possibility.”

“And your suggestions for dealing with these issues?” Hayne asked her.

There was only a minuscule pause before Alpha-32 answered. “First I must gain his trust. This will be achieved through acts of kindness that appease him on an emotional level, and by remaining attentive to his emotional needs throughout our assignment.”

There was a momentary silence as Hayne considered this, and then she took a breath.

“How, _exactly_ , will you ‘appease him on an emotional level’?” _Please don’t say sex, please don’t say sex, please don’t say sex…_

Truth be told, Hayne didn’t mind if Alpha-32 _did_ use sex as a means of controlling Lorca. It hadn’t escaped her notice, after all, that Alpha-32 had chosen Michael Burnham’s face and form. That had been a bit of a surprise, but a welcome one once it became clear how much it broke Lorca down. Hayne didn’t want the man _completely_ broken, of course - skilled Captains you could rely upon were rare, skilled Captains you had a hold on were like the proverbial diamonds - but an off-guard officer was one you could control. She had to admit, he’d reacted a lot more vehemently than expected.

And then, Alpha-32 told her.

“Oh,” Hayne said, blinking in surprise. “That… might actually work.”

“Then I have your permission to proceed?” Alpha-32 asked.

“Go ahead,” Hayne said, grinning. _If it works out, we’ll have Gabriel Lorca on our side_ forever _._

***

**Lorca.**

While he was waiting, he figured it would be a good idea if he read more up on the centuries of history he had missed, though he didn’t find anything interesting.

In truth, it was more to distract himself than anything else. He knew his heart wasn’t in it. It was too full of thoughts - Michael, that robot/android/gynoid/whatever that looked like her, the smirk on Hayne’s face when she’d stepped into the waiting room…

 _If that wasn’t part of her plan, I’m a damn gormagander,_ he thought with a scowl.

“Captain Lorca?” that too-familiar voice spoke. Lorca closed his eyes for a moment, taking a breath.

After a moment, he opened them and stood. Sure enough, there was ‘Alpha-32’, staring at him with that neutral expression.

“What?” he asked, with as much dignity as he could muster.

“It has been one hour,” she said evenly. “I have done as you requested.”

She held out a PADD. Lorca took it without another word and looked it over. Sure enough, it was the specs on It seemed relatively straightforward: 23 decks, crew of 400, nearly 400 metres long (which seemed quite small compared to the Terran Starship _Novalis_ , or even to Jallistra’s _Enterprise_ , but Lorca knew that size wasn’t everything in a Starship), fore and aft mounted phasers and torpedo launchers, capable of supporting a variety of science missions ( _yay_ )…

“There is also a crew manifest, sir,” Alpha-32 said in what might have been an attempt at a ‘helpful’ tone.

Lorca just gave a noncommittal grunt, before tapping a control. There was a collection of names and thumbnail images, nothing he considered noteworthy at present.

“I realise, Captain, that this entire experience has doubtless been somewhat harrowing,” Alpha-32 said, her tone still infuriatingly pleasant, so unlike Michael’s own ( _but why, Gabriel, would you want this machine to be like…_ her _?_ ). “If you like, we can go visit your ship and allow you to acquaint yourself with her personally.”

Lorca took a deep breath. He _wanted_ to say no. Actually, he wanted to punch her: to break his fists on her jaw, to knock her to the ground. He wanted to shout, to scream, to yell until his throat went raw.

“Alright,” he said instead, sighing wearily. “Have at it.”

What else was there left to do?

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There’s a lot to unpack in this chapter, and so in brief:
> 
> “Alpha-32” has been planned for a while. I’ve been unsure about her, but in the end I feel like there’s too much potential in her. No, that’s not her final name. No, I haven’t given her final name in this chapter (it’s not any of the options she listed). Yes, I know what her final name is. You’ll either love it or hate it. 
> 
> I decided to use the “multiple perspectives on the same thing” for this chapter because there’s so many conflicting perspectives that it’s just too fascinating to not have. Hayne’s machinations, poor Gabriel having a breakdown, and the unique perspective of “Alpha-32”. 
> 
> I have a name for Gabriel’s new ship. That, too, is a “love or hate” choice, but I find it hilarious and appropriate. Here’s a clue: a line from Dogma.
> 
> Hope this chapter’s been interesting for you all. However, the next chapter isn’t being seriously worked on until I’ve sat myself in front of _The Rift War’s_ current in-progress chapter (that’s my current in-progress serialised original novel on this site, if you weren’t aware) and edited it to my liking. If you’re a fan of Gabriel Lorca, I encourage you to try reading _Rift War_ , if only because dear old Lorca heavily informed one of that story’s cast.
> 
> Cheers,  
> Jed.


	11. Ten: This Is Never Going To Go Our Way If I’m Gonna Have To Guess What’s On Your Mind

**Chapter Ten**

**This Is Never Going To Go Our Way If I’m Gonna Have To Guess What’s On Your Mind**

***

_ So open up my eyes,  _

_ Tell me I’m alive, _

_ This is never going to go our way _

_ If I’m gonna have to guess what’s on your mind. _

***

**Starbase 93 dock.**

**Lorca.**

“Technically this ship has been  _ ready  _ to launch for over two weeks, but between bug tests and a certain lacklustre effort on Starfleet’s part, what with it being an older class of ship with comparatively minimal utility, the ship has not been named or fully commissioned yet…”

Alpha-32 was talking, and Lorca wasn’t listening. Which, he supposed, was better than being driven to distraction by her. Ignoring the wave of conflicting emotions that threatened to bubble up inside him, he looked about as they walked, taking everything in. 

The corridors of this ship were bare and utilitarian, the panels lined in computer access consoles, the crew wandering about in the same neat, jacketed uniforms Jallistra’s crew had worn. It was almost heartening, in a way, but somehow, he had trouble thinking of them as ‘his’ crew.

“Captain?” 

Lorca blinked, looking at Alpha-32, who was looking at him with that same patient, neutral expression. 

“I’m sorry, Commander,” he said without meaning it. “Where were we?”

“I was just informing you of some of the ship’s quirks, sir,” Alpha-32 replied, giving one of those neutered, empty smiles of hers.  _ So unlike Michael. _ “According to all of my research and data on the subject, it is beneficial for a commanding officer to know their ship.”

That was true, but he didn’t say so. He didn’t really want to give her the satisfaction of knowing that she’d said something accurate to the situation.

“Have you considered a name for the ship, yet?” Alpha-32 asked after a moment.

“No,” Lorca said dismissively. In all the ‘excitement’ of meeting Alpha-32, he’d simply forgotten that he had been given that option. 

“If I may, sir,  _ I _ would like to choose the name,” Alpha-32 said, almost hesitant.

Lorca gave her a sidelong glance. “ _ You  _ would?”

“Only if said name meets with your approval, of course, sir,” Alpha-32 clarified. “I find it an intriguing prospect, naming a vessel. Not something asked of a crew often.”

“Hm,” Lorca grunted. He let out a low chuckle. “Just make sure you don’t pick anything inappropriate. I don’t want to fly a ship called ‘daisy’.”

“Noted, sir,” Alpha-32 said. There was an infinitesimal pause before she added: “I will remove ‘Daisy’ from the list of potential names.”

Lorca sighed. He didn’t know whether she was messing with him, or whether she was genuinely that dense. Neither option was particularly appealing.

“Come on,” he said. “There’s probably more to this bucket than you’ve shown me.”

“I was not considering ‘ _ Bucket _ ’ as a name for the ship, sir,” Alpha-32 replied, “but there  _ is _ more to see.”

_ God save me from literal-minded robots, _ Lorca thought, rolling his eyes.

“If you’ll follow me, sir,” Alpha-32 continued, “I will show you to the bridge.”

***

**Alpha-32.**

“If you’ll follow me, sir, I will show you to the bridge.”

Captain Lorca was not enthusiastic about his command. That was… unexpected. The  _ Exeter _ -class’s similarity to the 23rd Century  _ Constitution- _ class alone should have been enough to garner a measure of positivity, if only on the basis of nostalgia. That had been, after all, one of the reasons Commodore Hayne requested this ship (which had only previously been slated for training missions and the occasional bout of diplomatic or scientific busywork).

_ Still, _ Alpha-32 thought as she walked.  _ There are other options still available to improve the Captain’s morale, and I have yet to undertake the two emotionally-charged actions that will foster an attachment to the ship and myself.  _

Asking to name the ship was the first. Alpha-32 was certain that she had picked a choice that was fitting, especially when she added in her complementary choice for her own new designation. 

Considering the two designations that she had picked made her pause. If she had activated her emotional subroutines, she might have found a certain hesitation at the thought of the names. Had she chosen correctly? However, despite her probabilistic calculations having been previously less than accurate regarding Captain Lorca’s reactions, she was confident she had made the right decisions.

“You said ‘minimal utility’,” Lorca said after a moment. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

It took Alpha-32 three nanoseconds to decide the best response. “The  _ Exeter- _ class is obviously not a top-of-the-line vessel. You have been on the  _ Enterprise, _ after all.”

“Yeah,” Lorca said, nodding. “Hell of a ship.” His expression became somewhat irritated. “So what, this one’s the dumpster for has-beens?”

‘Dumpster’ definitely was not a good sign, and though she was not entirely familiar with the phrase ‘has beens’, it, too, had negative connotations. She shook her head.

“The  _ Exeter _ -class is fitted for extended scientific missions, diplomatic transports…” Lorca’s expression became more derisive, and Alpha-32 immediately knew she had to change tactics. “It is also used in area denial escalation missions, as well as first-response tactical engagement.”

Ah,  _ there _ it was. A flicker of something else - the expression-reading subroutine she had coded into her system indicated that it was interest. Military-oriented missions seemed to hold his interest more than science or diplomacy. That much was predictable. 

“So we’re first response?” Lorca asked after a moment.

“Essentially, Captain,” Alpha-32 said quietly. “Our ship is not powerful enough to stand toe-to-toe against more heavily-armed vessels, but there are a few modifications to her -”

“The fuck,” Lorca interrupted harshly. He was no longer looking at Alpha-32, but instead glaring at a female Klingon walking down the corridor, clad in a gold Starfleet uniform jacket.

Alpha-32 already knew that there was a certain animosity towards Klingons in the 23rd Century, but with a sudden, troubling realisation, she also recalled Lorca’s imprisonment at Klingon hands. Those two facts meant that it made all too much sense that his reaction to seeing a Klingon on his ship would be… unfavourable. 

“Sir, this is  _ Lieutenant _ B’Rena,” she said evenly, putting the barest hint of emphasis on the rank.

“Why is there a  _ Klingon  _ on my ship?!” he hissed, pointing at B’Rena and clearly ignoring Alpha-32’s introduction. His expression was filled with a kind of naked hostility that Alpha-32 had not anticipated. B’Rena squared herself up, clearly feeling challenged. 

“And who are  _ you  _ to question my place here?!” she hissed.

“The man who’s gonna kick your ass!” Lorca said hotly. 

Alpha-32 held up a hand to forestall the Klingon’s angry retort. It was logical that he would be angry upon seeing B’Rena, but Alpha-32 felt confident she could defuse the tension.

“ _ Captain _ Lorca is a temporal refugee from the 23rd Century,” she exclaimed to B’Rena. “You will have been briefed on his situation.”

“Ah!” B’Rena said, her demeanour completely changing as she grinned. “The glory days of the Dahar Masters! A time of great heroes - Kor, Koloth, Kang -”

“T’Kuvma and Kol, actually,” Lorca said, his tone bitingly sarcastic. 

Alpha-32 ran the names through her history banks, and found information entries for the Battle of the Binary Stars, ‘T’Kuvma the Unforgettable’, and a host of other things that she suspected might cause an officer who had lived through those times some degree of…  _ consternation _ at a Klingon’s presence. 

“T’Kuvma the Unforgettable!” B’Rena said with a grin. “Ah, to be a Klingon warrior in  _ those _ days! Truly, that would have been glorious!”

“Yes,” Lorca said, his expression cooling into disdain. “I’m sure ramming cloaked ships into vessels under a flag of truce and bombing the shit out of defenceless civilians would have been such a  _ glorious _ way to spend your time.”

B’Rena’s expression dropped in what might have been confusion on anyone else. “What?”

Lorca scowled. “Excuse me.  _ Lieutenant _ .”

He pushed straight past her without another word. Alpha-32 gave an approximation of an apologetic look, before following him. B’Rena simply stayed put, and Alpha-32 calculated a 73.7% chance that she was still processing the encounter. 

Alpha-32 caught up with the Captain a moment later, just as he entered the turbolift.

“Bridge,” he ordered gruffly. He glowered at Alpha-32. “You never answered my question. What in the hells is that thing doing on my ship?”

Alpha-32 stiffened. “Lieutenant B’Rena is one of the most qualified tactical officers of her class. Having her aboard is an asset.”

“She’s a  _ Klingon _ ,” Lorca hissed.

“The Federation made  _ peace _ with the Klingons, Captain,” Alpha-32 told him. “It is one of the many things that has changed since your time.”

He said nothing after that, and Alpha-32 wondered for approximately eighteen nanoseconds whether she had gone too far. Changing tack, she imitated an action she had often observed among humans: she took a deep breath. This had the effect of making Captain Lorca look at her in bemusement.

“You  _ breathe _ , Commander?” he asked.

“On certain occasions, Captain, I have seen humans audibly and deeply breathe in order to diffuse tense situations,” she replied primly.

“‘Diffuse tense…’” He chuckled. “Commander, you’re a damn marvel.”

_ Success,  _ Alpha-32 thought, allowing herself her logical satisfaction. After all: it was one step in the right direction for dealing with Captain Gabriel Lorca. 

***

**Lorca.**

When the Turbolift opened, Lorca found himself looking around the bridge space with a feeling of mild irritation. 

The space itself was more utiliarian than Jallistra’s bridge on the Enterprise had been, which on some levels he could appreciate. It had a familiar layout: centre seat, helm station, Ops station, tactical station, science station… the only real difference between this and the Discovery’s bridge was, ironically, that it was smaller, not to mention a mite more colourful.

In truth, Lorca wasn’t irritated by the bridge. He wasn’t particularly paying attention to the bridge at all. He was still thinking about his encounter in the corridor.

_ Change, change, more change. _ He scowled.  _ A damn  _ Klingon  _ serving in the fleet.  _

He had anticipated change, of course. It was inevitable. Indeed, it was almost welcome: had he somehow emerged into a time where everything looked the same, where everyone wore the same uniform, he was fairly certain he would have gone mad. But all the same…

_ Damned in change, damned in status quo, damned all the way, _ he thought, resisting the urge to scowl. 

“What do you think, sir?” Alpha-32 asked from behind him.

Lorca didn’t answer. He noted the door that said ‘ready room’, and almost immediately made a beeline for it, entering without another word to anyone. Alpha-32, thankfully, didn’t follow him. 

The ready room wasn’t much different than any boring standard one. Lorca scowled slightly at the chair. He’d always preferred a standing desk - something he’d shared with his other self, he’d realised with some surprise at the time. Still, it was good to have a chair right this second.

“Right,” he said to no one in particular. “Let’s get on with this.”

***

**Alpha-32.**

Alpha-32 sat at the command chair, checking the readouts. There were more than a few reports awaiting the Captain’s attention, so she forwarded those on. She calculated less than an 11% chance that he would actually read the reports, but 11% was not 1%, as she was sure many of her human colleagues would have said to her. She’d never quite understood that attitude - it was still an unacceptable margin, by any machine’s standards - but as history bore out time and again, organic idiosyncrasies did not stop them from achieving their goals. 

As she went through some reports aimed at her, she saw the door to the turbolift open and Lieutenant B’Rena step out. 

“Commander,” she said quietly. “A word.”

Alpha-32 stood, and walked over to the Lieutenant: 

“What is on your mind, Lieutenant B’Rena?” she asked.

Analysing B’Rena was always a study in contrasts. Like all Klingons she seemed gruff, often unresponsive to traditional human platitudes. She was well built, muscular, lean, perfectly proportioned for security. Her hair was worn in a regulation ponytail. And, unlike many Klingon officers, she had chosen against wearing a Klingon honour sash. 

“That man is the Captain?” B’Rena asked her quietly.

“He is,” Alpha-32 confirmed.

B’Rena nodded thoughtfully. “Do you know if it is true?”

“If what is true?” Alpha-32 asked in return.

“What he said about T’Kuvma ramming a ship under a flag of truce,” B’Rena clarified, folding her arms. “Is it true?”

Alpha-32 nodded. “I believe it is.”

Truthfully, that was one of the few things that had remained relatively clear about the Battle of Binary Stars. What information they had about the battle was limited - the number and type of ships (especially the Klingon fleet), the exact casualties - but the destruction of the starship  _ Europa  _ was something that was well known. Alpha-32 had committed a dozen different interpretations of the day’s events to her memory - from dissertations condemning the weak stance of Admiral Anderson to analyses condemning Phillipa Georgiou for not leaving at the first instance. Her own interpretation was something she had yet to decide upon: just one of many things requiring further cogitation.

“I see,” B’Rena said, frowning. “It is… disconcerting to hear one of whom I have thought highly dishonoured in such a way.”

“Do you wish to speak with the Captain about it?” Alpha-32 asked.

“No,” B’Rena said, scowling. “I wish to  _ think _ . And then I will decide.”

Alpha-32 nodded. “That seems like a wise decision.”

It was a wise decision, but in truth Alpha-32 was only devoting a small amount of processing power to it. There were, after all, other things to think about. 

_ My mission,  _ she thought.

***

**Lorca**

Starfleet regulations didn’t change much in two centuries. In fact, apart from a few new ones named - presumably - for people that Lorca had never heard of, they seemed entirely static.

_ Bureaucracy, _ he thought derisively.  _ Never changes.  _

Tugging at the red jacket of his uniform, Lorca idly wondered if there were different ship service uniforms, as there had been in his time. He recalled the first time he’d seen the memo about the new uniforms aboard  _ Constitution _ -class ships - he had been, almost despite himself, intrigued: there was something exciting about the colours. A promise of vibrancy, excitement, adventure. He remembered thinking, as he looked at the plans of one of the various  _ Connies _ : ‘ _ after the war, a  _ Constitution _ -class ship. That’s the plan.’ _

Win the war, get the prize. Best ships in the fleet. Prestige, and the chance to pick his own crew and go out into the great unknown, far from Admiralty breathing down his neck.

_ Yeah, sure,  _ he thought, snorting. Vibrancy. Excitement. Adventure. A Terran Captain didn’t crave such things, or at least, not in the same way a Federation Captain did. For a Terran, vibrancy was alien blood splattered on a wal, excitement was battle, adventure was conquest. 

_ But I did get a  _ Constitution _ class ship, _ he thought, snorting derisively at the thought of the  _ Exeter  _ class - ‘ _ an older class of ship with comparatively minimal utility’ _ , she had called it. 

_ Could say the same damn thing for me, _ he scowled. 

The door beeped, and Lorca sighed, his thoughts snapping back to the present (bitter irony filled him at that thought). 

“Enter,” he said curtly.

Sure enough, in came Alpha-32, a small, empty smile on her face.

“Are you settling in comfortably, sir?” she asked without preamble. 

“I prefer standing desks,” he replied gruffly. “But I’ve been taking the time to catch up on my reading, so there’s that at least.”

He brandished the PADD as he spoke, giving her a wry smile. 

“That is good,” Alpha-32 said, still smiling. “While you have been acclimating -”

_ God, this robot doesn’t have a sarcasm module. _

“- I have made a selection for the name of the ship.”

“Oh?” Lorca asked blandly. 

“I would prefer to show you, sir,” she said. “I ordered it painted onto the hull by the time we get onto a shuttle.”

“Well, isn’t that nice,” he said with a sardonic smirk. He stood. “Can you get me a standing desk for when we get back?”

“Unlikely, but I can put in a request,” Alpha-32 said, nodding once. 

Lorca sighed, motioning to the door. “Shall we, Alpha-32?”

She paused, almost hesitating, before looking him in the eye, her smile gone. 

“I have also selected a new name for myself, sir,” she said, her expression entirely serious. “It was a difficult choice to make, but I believe it is the right one.”

“Alright,” he said, trying not to sound too disinterested. “What is it?”

“Raphael,” she replied at once.

It took him a moment to process

“Raphael,” he said after a moment, “is a  _ man’s _ name.”

Her small smile returned, now almost sardonic. “So is  _ Michael _ .”

He paused at that, before smirking ruefully. “Touché.”

Her smile widened. “Shall we, Captain?”

***

The name was emblazoned on the saucer section in neat black lettering for all the universe to see. 

**U.S.S.** **_Seraphim_ ** **NCC-102017**

“Interesting name,” Lorca commented from the seat of the shuttle raft. 

“I chose it because it is the term for the highest choir of angels,” Alpha-32 -  _ Raphael _ \- said evenly.

“Ah.” He snorted. “‘Gabriel’. ‘Michael’. ‘Raphael’.”

“Exactly,” Raphael said. “Although technically, they were archangels, not necessarily Seraphim. There is  _ some _ theological uncertainty in that regard.”

He smirked. “The name works, Commander.”

She gave another of her neutral smiles, before returning her attention to the helm. 

Lorca considered for a moment whether there was an aspect of emotional manipulation at play, but then dismissed it. After all,  _ Raphael _ seemed, for the most part, about as emotionally aware as the average brick. Smiling as he comforted himself in that realisation, Lorca leant back, admiring the lines of his ship. It sure looked like a  _ Connie _ from here, he had to admit. 

_ Captain Lorca of the Starship  _ Seraphim _ ,  _ he thought, smiling. Now  _ that  _ was something he could get used to.

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one took a while to get right. There’s a couple of bits in there that are pure bull**** on my part (Lorca wanting a Constitution class ship for one - given their prestige, though, i can just see him wanting one eventually).
> 
> Hope you enjoy it. I’ll get the next bit out when I’m able.


End file.
